Renegade
by RWBRyan
Summary: After a brutal act of revenge, a newly powered individual comes to the Avengers attention. But when their methods and motives conflict with his own, he must must decide if he will conform to the laws and rules of the Avengers, or strike out on his own, where conflict would be inevitable.
1. For A Few Dollars

Just A Few Dollars

The Line.

Everyone always talks about "crossing the line". That line that separates "Good" from "Evil". That separates you from your enemies. That line that represents the boundaries you have set in your life, that you adhere to when the going gets tough, when life beats the ever-living -shit out of you.

The Line. There are laws and rules in place, ordinances passed by cities, though let's be honest, who really gives a rat's ass about the ordinances of a city? It's pure revenue generation in that case, but whatever. Even the city officials gotta eat, and the tax payers have to feed them. But The Line. The one thing that keeps us sane, showing us that we are not the animals we could so easily become.

When do we ever cross that line? Everyone, absolutely everyone, has a breaking point. Or maybe it isn't a breaking point per se, but a point in time when you have toed that line ever so closely, and decided that the situation, whether it be your life or something else, warranted crossing that sacred line, that unbreakable rule that you or others have set down for you.

And so I sat there on my couch and wondered, as I held the pistol in my hand, unloaded obviously. I'm not suicidal after all. But holding that pistol there in my hand, the barrel pointing at the ground, the thought of The Line crossed my mind.

How far would you go to protect the ones you love? The ones you care for. For me, there were a precious few that I would go this far for. Family, what of it I had left. A few choice friends, since when the going got tough, the number of true friends you have can be counted on your fingers.

I looked over my magazine. I had a full one, and I really didn't plan on being in a shootout tonight. One magazine. Fifteen rounds. That's all I am going to pack tonight, and if I run out of ammo, then I know it was a bad night. A very bad night. And I prayed, I actually prayed on the night I was doing this, that it would not be a bad night. Kind of ironic actually, that the very night me and my friends were going to do this that I would pray to a god that was supposed to be just and loving and committing this kind of act.

But then again, no god had ever helped me, my family, or any of my friends. No divine sign or miracle had ever shown up. Grace had been alien to me. And he, she, it or they had to exist right? Hell, they'd had one of those supposed gods swinging a hammer at freaking aliens not too long ago, and just what the hell had levitated a whole freaking country some time ago? Power existed, but it was never mine to share.

And so here I was. My Mother and Brother were working, leaving me to tend the house, or at least as far as they knew. My buds would be here soon, and we would get the money, split it, and then hopefully we could be done with this for at least a while. Until life forced me to do this again, at which point in time I would have no choice. Or would I? No, I don't think I'll ever be that lucky.

Someday, I might be dead in a ditch. But hopefully, death might be a release. My Brother would be with Mom when she needed him. He was the likable one anyway. I was...well, I don't know sometimes. Sometimes it was like-

A knock on the apartment door got my attention. They're here.

I rose from the couch, placing my pistol on the table, not wanting to open the door with it in my hand in case it was actually someone other than my friends. The cops had knocked on my door before, and though I never opened the door without a warrant and never, ever spoke to them, I wasn't going to take chances. Flex your rights...

"Who is it?" I asked. I heard a chuckle.

"It's me, man. You know who and his little buddies."

I chuckled to myself. Santos was a joker. I opened the door to see my friends there, all three of them, wearing coats and jeans. Stepping aside, I allowed them entrance, the three of them grinning and nodding as they passed by me. We all went into the living area to collect ourselves, as per our usual game plan.

"Your folks out for tonight?" Santos asked. I nodded.

"They won't be back for some time. We've got plenty of time my man," I answered. Santos grinned even wider.

"Good. Never hurts to have more time than expected."

Santos was slightly taller than me, maybe 6 foot on the mark. He was of Hispanic stock, with dark hair and eyes. And he was always cracking jokes even in the worst of times. It was as if nothing could get under his skin. And maybe nothing could.

Next to him were the other two of our crew, Mike and Barry. Both were white skinned, Mike with short, blond hair and blue eyes, with Barry having brown hair with green eyes. Both had high cheekbones and were more bulky in their body structure, compared to me and Santos, who were more on the lean side.

I didn't actually know their last names. I never cared anyway. Sure that maybe just a little flag raising, but honestly, as long as we got what we came for, then I couldn't care less about the names...

All of them began to check their weapons, and I saw we were all packing pistols, obviously. Anything bigger wouldn't be very practical in this case. And it wasn't as though we expected anyone to go all kung fu on us or some weird crap like that. We were in and out, and that was it.

I couldn't shake the feeling something might be different about this though. I always got the jitters before a bust. Pre-event trembles, as one might say. The adrenaline was waiting to fire up. But today, when I thought about this one, I just couldn't shake the feeling that something...unexpected...was about to happen.

But I never did get a chance to elaborate with myself on this feeling. Santos reached into his pocket and drew his keys out, giving them a whirl.

"So, my partners in mayhem, shall we commence with today's daring heist?" he put a high, sophisticated tone to his voice that got us grinning.

"Why yes, my good man. Let's roll," Mike said, imitating Santos's voice with the devil in his eyes.

And so we walked out of my family's apartment, over the barrier from the safety of home into a hostile world, with intent to reap something from the fire.

I crossed The Line.

-0-

We were in the car, Santos's, and the usual chatter was on. What we were planning to do with our share, the amount we expected to rip off, whatever. Santos drove while I stared out the window in the backseat, letting my mind wonder as I watched the dark streets flash by.

So many people here, I thought. So many people, and so much wasted.

The look of the city at night was like a change of mask. At day it was hustle and bustle with life. Vendors, pedestrians, and tourists. Streets like Broadway and the famous buildings drew the crowds, not to mention that funky "Avengers" tower. God, the amount of fans that always gathered around that building was smothering.

But at night, it was as if an aura had been cast, and the worst of society roamed free. Thieves, murderers, and rapists roamed these streets, and sadly, with what we were about to do, I couldn't help but wonder if we were joining them.

I thrust the thought aside. No, we were not like them. We scoped this store, owned by this creep for some time. We never killed anyone, and we barely had to get physical with anyone either. Something about a sudden hit made people freeze up, and that was the main weapon we used. In and out, no blood and no hassle.

Besides, I was doing what I needed to survive. To help my family live, eat, and have a place to sleep another day. Rent wasn't going to pay itself after all. Money always seems to be what made the Earth go round and round. Screw gravity.

We pulled out onto the street where the store was located. It was a small grocery store, rather popular with the area so the money would be quickly reimbursed by the needs of the masses. I may feel guilty about taking from others, but guilt can be dealt with later. I had a job to do. A mission to accomplish. A family to feed.

The store was just down a little ways. I saw that there wasn't much traffic at this time of night, and few pedestrians were walking around. Good, since less people meant less reaction time. We were pretty sure someone like him wouldn't have a panic button or anything, since it was in a rather poorer part of the city. But still, it didn't hurt to find less obstacles in the way.

We pulled into the almost empty parking lot, and I took a deep breathe, hoping to calm my racing heart. I felt my pistol beneath my jacket, and reassured myself that it was safely tucked away until I was ready to whip it out for use. Hopefully, and I truly meant it, I wouldn't actually have to fire it at anyone. Or at all, preferably.

We exited the car and walked inside, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Besides our weapons, we each had a backpack to stash the money in. The Clerk behind the counter glanced up from his newspaper and took notice of us, but quickly went back to his readings. It must have been a slow day for him. Well, it was about to get a whole lot more interesting for him, a whole lot quicker. I made my way through several aisles, making sure to seem interested in what they had to offer.

Well, I'll admit I snagged a couple packs of chips, but hey, if you're going to rob a store, you might as well take everything you want after all...

Santos was browsing the magazines up front. Mike was standing near the rear exit, looking intimidating and making himself ready to jump in front of anyone rushing the exit. Barry was near the front doors, ready to do the same. Santos, was reading from the magazine, though he glanced up at Barry and nodded slightly. Barry returned the gesture and drew his weapon.

With a loud bang, the shot he fired into the roof of the building rang in our ears. Instantly, the few patrons in the store instinctively crouched down, and a female scream sounded from one of them, more visibly terrified than the rest, though not by much it seemed. Mike drew his weapon and stepped in front of an older gentleman who had made a rush for the back exit. He pointed it directly at the man's chest, who saw what was possible and stopped in his tracks, hands in the air.

"Please son, please don't do this!" he pleaded. Mike gestured with his pistol.

"Get the hell back! GET BACK!" he screamed. The man slowly backed up against a stand of soda bottles.

"Okay, okay. Please don't shoot," he pleaded again, crouching down and lowering himself onto his knees. Mike placed the barrel to the man's temple, the old man sputtering in fear. Tears coming down as his lips moved on their own.

"Get on your stomach old man! Get on your goddamn stomach! That goes for all of you!" Mike roared, raising his pistol at the rest of the customers in the store. Slowly, they all complied. One young woman, a bulging belly and young child clinging to her, was awkwardly trying to stay down while holding her young daughter to her.

I was holding up a young gentleman at the milk fridge, who simply stared at me in shock as I ordered him to the ground. Making him put his hands on the top of his head, I approved of him offering no resistance. If no one tried anything, I left them unharmed. I didn't ask myself if I would ever shoot anyone. I try not to think of it.

We started to gather them all into one place, after searching them for anything like a cell phone or anything that could be used to contact anyone. Piling them up in the back, we kept them separate from the hands of the now captive customers. Santos was already working over the clerk, barking orders to open the safe behind the counter.

"Please stop, sir. There is nothing behind the counter," the clerk tried to explain. We knew about that safe for some time now, so lying would not work here. And lying to Santos of all people would be a very bad move on the clerk's part. Santos slammed his fist into the counter, causing a loud thud that startled several people near me.

"I know the safe's there, you old piece of shit! Now you either open it, or I'll blow your goddamn brains out all over this floor," he screamed. When the man still shook his head, Santos placed the barrel of his pistol between his eyes. "I'm warning you old man! I'll paint the walls with your brain matter!"

Finally, the old man nodded and bent down, clearly working the safe. Santos kept his weapon trained on him, clearly thinking that the man might actually be foolish enough to try something, if his delaying tactic meant anything. I kept my own trained on the young guy with the milk, as well as the softly crying mother with the child, who seemed too shocked at what she was seeing for it to register in her young mind.

I might have felt a twinge of empathy, but that could have just been me. But my pistol did lower just a little...

Santos was still watching the man trying to open the safe, with Barry and Mike guarding the exits. I began to tap my foot with impatience. How long did it take to open a safe? Did the man even know the combination?

The woman let out a sob. I pointed my weapon at her for effect. Crying was something that got under my skin.

"Hey lady, you're alive alright. And you'll stay that way if you don't try anything. Now pipe down!" I ordered. She still let out a sob, the child beginning to whimper along with her cries. "I'm serious! Stop crying!" I tried again.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, and Santos was behind me, glaring at the woman and child. He gestured toward the counter. "Go watch the old man. I got these people."

"Alright," I replied, dutifully walking over to the counter. I didn't get why he decided to change positions, but I found thinking about it to be irrelevant and leaned over the counter to see the old man still tinkering with the combination.

"For god's sake, do you even know the combination?" I asked. He looked up at me and stopped what he was doing. I was surprised to not see fear in his eyes, but something else.

"How old are you son?" he asked.

What the hell kind of question was that? He was being held hostage until he got that safe open. Maybe he should be worrying about surviving instead of asking his robbers about their ages. I growled at him for show.

"That's none of your business. Hurry up with that safe, or what my friend here will do is nothing compared to what I'll do to you," I snarled, making my voice sound fierce, at least to my ears. But the man still didn't seem scared of me. Instead he seemed as though he was...sympathetic.

"Please, just tell me. How old are you?" he asked. His voice had a fatherly tone to it that seemed to melt a little of my anger annoyance away. That was dangerous. To lose focus, to be swayed by words in the middle of a situation like this could be fatal.

But in his voice, I felt like I had to answer. It was just...something I couldn't explain.

"Eighteen..." He, unbelievably, slightly smiled, a sad looking smile.

"You're only eighteen? And you're doing things like this? A handsome boy like you?" I glared at him with that comment, but he still didn't seem fazed.

"You have your whole life ahead of you. And you choose to take what doesn't belong to you. Why? Do you not have much at home?" he continued to question me as if he had some right to. As though this was an interrogation instead of a robbery, and he was the interrogator.

"Where are you going with your life son...?" he tried to ask, but was cut off.

"Why are you jabbering! Get that safe open, or I swear to god I'll start capping these people!" Santos bellowed, his gun only inches from the mother's head. The man saw this and got back to work. I didn't think Santos would actually go through with it anyway, so I kept my attention on the man. Finally, I heard a click. The man took a hold of the door, and it swung open.

"Guys, we're in!" I shouted. Santos walked over and grinned at the sight. The safe really was full of bills. My previous horror that the safe might be empty or just a decoy of some kind was apparently exaggerated. I threw my backpack off my shoulders and started to shove the cash into it. Santos did the same.

When they were both full, we took Mike and Barry's place as they filled the contents of their bags with the same, as much more as was left in the safe. We would divide it out later. The old clerk had been placed against the wall away from the safe, but his gaze still lingered on me. I won't admit that it was uncomfortable.

Finally we were set. We had what we needed. And now all I wanted to do was bug out, get home, and try to pretend this never had to happen. And that was when it happened.

So fast. It happened so fast. One moment, the little girl was in her mother's arms, her face buried in her chest, hiding from the horror that we were. The monsters she may have been told about. And then she was running for the exit, tears flying from her ears and a cry in her throat. She ran like a frightened animal to the exit.

And her mother panicked, screaming her name. And then she bolted as well, running for her terrified daughter.

"Elizabeth!"

The sound of the gunshot deafened all sound in my ears. It shouldn't have, since I was used to hearing it occasionally. But for whatever reason, this time I heard nothing afterward, as if my mind was focused on the fact that Santos had raised his pistol at the fleeing woman, a mother racing to grab her scared girl like any mother would, and fired one shot. Just one shot.

The woman's head snapped to the side as blood splattered around the area. She fell on her side, and the young girl, who couldn't have been more than five or six, raced back toward her, having been startled to stop after the gunshot, turning just in time to see her mother's last moment as she crumbled to the ground.

"Mommy!"

The girl raced over and grabbed he mother's side, pushing the body onto its back. The girl couldn't understand why her mother was lying there with her eyes open, now lifeless. She shook her, trying to get a reaction, but was met with only dead silence. Her mother was gone from this Earth and she couldn't know that yet, as she kept wailing for her and trying to revive her.

My God...Oh god...

Santos slowly lowered his pistol, his face stone cold. A muscle was jumping in his cheek. Mike and Barry were also looking at the woman, but were also glancing frantically at Santos, as though looking for orders.

Me...all I could do was stare. My muscles wouldn't respond. My whole view was of this girl trying to call her mother back to her, when she unknowingly had already had her final moment with her. It felt like the last sight I myself would ever see. I just couldn't look away.

"We have what we need. Let's get the hell out of here!" Santos finally yelled. Mike and Barry ran out the doors. Santos nudged me. "Come on! Let's go!"

I still didn't respond, my mind still on the scene playing out before me. I finally saw the bulge in the woman's stomach wasn't fat. It wasn't the right look.

She was pregnant. Or had been...

Santos finally ran out toward the car. The cops would be here shortly. That was inevitable. How they hadn't already been was beyond me, not that I could mentally dwell on it with what I beheld before me.

"Mommy! Mommy, please wake up!"

And then the girl looked at me with wide scared eyes, tears flowing freely, in both fear and despair. And I gazed back upon them, a sensation of something I couldn't describe running through me. The girl was afraid of me. Like I was...

A monster...

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. I snapped out of my trance and turned to see the old man had walked behind me, and his hand gently gripped my shoulder. I stared into his eyes and expected to see anger, or judgement in them. By god I deserved it. But all I saw in them...was sympathy.

"You could be so much more..." he whispered.

Sirens in the distance. Outside, the car door honked. I bolted away from the man and the death, though I swear his look was burning into me as I ran. I sprinted to the car door and flung it open, hurling myself into it. I barely had time to shut the door before Santos put the petal to the metal, and the view of the store was gone from my physical view.

But I knew I would see this forever...

-0-

I was still shell shocked as we entered my apartment. I wasn't even shaking. Something in me was different, I knew it. My bones felt it, and where I thought most people would be shaking in the aftermath of a heist, I didn't. That little girl's eyes were still looking at me in my mind, still so afraid of me. So very afraid.

We walking into my living area and Mike, Barry, and Santos emptied their packs onto the ground, dividing it up into equal shares. I still didn't move a muscle as I sat on my couch. If my mind wasn't wired to breathe on its own, I might have stopped even that basic function.

"Hey Michael! You with us buddy?" Mike asked. I slowly nodded and took off my pack, opening it and dropping the bills onto the ground. It really had been a good haul, and the rent for my place would be paid for at least for some time. They divided the totals among themselves, leaving my share of the money in front of me. I picked it up and placed it under my bed, my motions like a robot, someone operating on a mental auto-pilot.

I returned to the living room to find them laughing. And something in me began to break. I could feel control slipping.

"That was a lot more money than I thought that place would have," Mike said. Barry nodded in agreement. Santos chuckled.

Why was he laughing? He had just murdered a woman in cold blood, and here he was...laughing. How could any of them be thinking they...we...had done a "good job" when a woman was dead, and a little girl had lost her mother by my "friends" hand?

And by my involvement...my hand...

"Shame about that woman though," Santos said. "She shouldn't have tried to run..."

And that's when I snapped. It happened fast, almost as if everything else was in slow motion. My fist connected with Santos's face. I felt bones bend under my blow, and cries of surprise from all three, but also pain from Santos.

My fist connected again, this time with his jaw. And then as he bent back in reaction to the surprise attack, his gut. Both of my hands where then beating him, almost without thought from me except for one screaming voice in my head.

Murderer!

Mike and Barry finally pulled me off him. Santos spit blood and glared up at me, rising up from the floor. If he was going to hit me I would have taken the blow and used it as encouragement to keep fighting all three if needed.

"What the hell Michael!"

"You killed that woman! You killed her and she didn't need to die!"

"She startled me!"

"She was scared!"

"She was stupid!"

I threw Barry and Mike's arms off me, and braced myself for a fight, but Santos made no move. Only glared at me with his icy, dark eyes.

"She didn't have to die. We were there for the money, and nothing else! She was pregnant Santos. She was fucking pregnant!"

"That doesn't change the fact that she and her munchkin shouldn't have taken off," Santos replied, his voice icy and low.

"Get out. All of you. Leave my share here and get out. I don't want to see your faces here again. I swear that if any of you try to get me involved in this shit again, I'll tell everyone what you did." Santos narrowed his eyes.

"If you did that, you would be locked up like the rest of us. And no one would be here for your family. Is that what you want Michael? To leave your family...defenseless?"

I stared at him. Those words carried some weight to them. Santos did have other friends that we knew of. We weren't in a gang, but he had family that was. And they were not the nice sort.

"You wouldn't dare.."

"Try me Michael. You may have made a grave mistake here today my friend..."

"Get out..."

The three scooped up their money and left, Santos giving me one last glare before he shut the door. "Remember what I said..."

"Get out!"

And with a slam of the door, they were gone. And I was alone for the first time tonight. That's when the wave hit me. I crumbled to the ground on my knees, a silent cry, a scream, ripping out of me. My breath was ragged, and tears, yes tears, fell from my face.

I didn't know how long I was there on my knees, like a pathetic little boy crying. My arms were around my stomach like I was sick, and maybe I was, since the emotions were causing some unpleasant pain in my abdomen. I took several deep breathes and stumbled my way into my room.

Oh god...I couldn't stop seeing them. The dead mother and the little girl. Please God make it stop! Please!

I finally curled into the fetal position on my bed. My breath was still coming in waves and grunts of pain and despair sounding like trumpets to my ears in the still, dark room. _I can't stop seeing them. I can't stop seeing them. I can't stop seeing them._

Mercy...Please God...Mercy...

Mercy...


	2. To Kill The Pain

Chapter 2: To Kill The Pain

I don't know how long I laid there on my bed, curled up in a ball. The night seemed to be going by so slowly, so painfully. And it felt unusually dark, as though a shade had been cast upon my room, a curtain sealing away the light.

Like what I felt in my soul now. A dark shadow, clouding over me. I had my eyes closed, trying to find sleep, and amazingly, it came. But it was only coming in short intervals. I would wake up in an hour and a half, lay there replaying the events of the night in my mind until sleep again claimed me in it's embrace.

As for nightmares about it, I didn't have any. I was already seeing the woman die, hearing her daughter's screams, and seeing her eyes as she saw a monster before her. And I was seeing all this while I was awake. There would be no need to see it when I sleep, because I would be seeing it for much longer, every waking moment. That's why I think I wasn't having a dream.

I was already being punished enough. Well, maybe not enough actually. Simple dreams and memories would never be penance enough for what I did. A little girl's mother is now dead, along with what I am sure was an unborn child, because I went along with something I never should have been a part of.

I clutched the sheets around me. I had tried to justify what I had done to myself with thoughts of survival. Of my family's welfare. But what of that girl's family? Did she have a stable father? A loving guardian somewhere that could take her in? Or had my "friend" deprived her of that for good, leaving her in misery for a length of time until she could get out of it.

Monster...

 _Shut up..._

You have become a monster...

 _Shut...the hell...up..._

I hadn't set my alarm, so the only indication I had was when I awoke with the morning light in my face. Outside, the city was awake and bustling with the usual morning craze. I felt my face for anything that might indicate a rough night, and slowly got out of bed, making sure to be as quiet as possible. I opened the door and heard the sounds of the kitchen appliances working. My Mother was home.

I slowly made my way to the bathroom, and closed the door extra slowly. Turning on the light, I examined my face to scan for anything like tear steaks or red eyes. Thankfully, I seemed to be clear on the physical side of things. Though on the mental side, I wasn't even close to fine. I took a deep breathe. I would need to play things cool until I was sure the effects of last night had worn off.

I stepped out and entered the kitchen, where my Mother was flipping the pancakes with practiced skill. She worked a night job at an office somewhere off in the city, and when she awoke from sleeping she would make pancakes. It was one of the things that were routine in our household, and always brought a slight measure of relief to me. A sign of familiarity.

Unlike me, she was blonde with blue eyes, high cheekbones and a warm, maternal smile that rarely failed to make me feel better, feel loved. Mother always had that effect on many people, with her demeanor and to be honest, she was maybe too compassionate for her own good. This woman would give some poor soul her clothes and walk around naked if that meant making someone's day better.

She was a good person. And I knew that, as of last night, that I was not.

She gave me that same smile as I walked in, and sat down at the table. I gave her a smile in return, hoping that it looked genuine, because her smile did not warm my heart this time. I didn't think anything could right now. But the smell of those pancakes could surely do something. I could never be too soulsick to not eat her pancakes.

"Did you have a rough night honey?" she asked. I felt my blood go cold and my stomach did a twist, but I kept up the facade and gave her a grin.

"Nah Mom. We just played around."

"That's nice. I'm glad you found some friends."

Yeah...friends alright...

"Well, eat up. I made extra since I had a feeling you'd be on the hungry side this morning."

I needed no further encouragement. Despite everything that had happened, combined with the need to look like I was fine and dandy, I scooped up my utensils and began to butter my cakes. I dug into the food with a passion, and as I was eating I heard my brother's door open, and in strolled my brother, Christopher.

Christopher was exactly my height with black hair and dark eyes, both of us taking after our father. He also had the same build and lean muscle as me. All this was obvious due to one simple fact.

He was my twin brother. And he was only a handful of seconds older than me. Does that technically make me the younger one? I never really considered it. And I damn well wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Christopher, or simply Chris, would never let me live it down if I ever admitted it.

I also wouldn't admit that it was very comforting to be near him. Like we were two halves of a single being. A connection, a blood connection that I could almost sense. And I had a feeling; one that I did think was very cliché, that if something were to happen to the other, the other may possibly sense it.

Yes, cliché I know. But life was full of clichés these days. And this was one cliché of life that I could live with. Chris was one of the brothers you actually wanted, and not the kind that knocked you down and took your hat because he was interested in it, like I guessed a lot of other household brothers were.

Chris nodded at me and smiled at Mom, sitting down to a plate of pancakes being placed before him as well. I kept eating, not letting up for a moment, lest they sense something was off.

"You do anything you weren't supposed to last night?" Chris asked, his face in a facetious grin.

I knew he was jesting, but the question was out of the blue, and I felt a rush of anxiety in my blood as my ears received it. But I grinned and shook my head, taking another bite of the pancake. I'll be damned before Chris of all people found out what had happened.

"Nah man. Just messed around."

"Oh...really?"

"Yes, really."

That seemed to satisfy him, as he was occupied with his breakfast, Mom finally joining us with her own. There was some small talk as we ate, but thankfully, nothing was asked that would cause me to lose focus on keeping my cool. I finished my breakfast and excused myself. Mom nodded her consent and began to chat with Chris as I made my way to my room, closing the door behind me.

I let my emotions loosen slightly, and the act crumbled as I slid down my bedroom door, burying my face in my knees. I shook a little, and wrapped my arms around myself to stop it. My mind raced a mile a minute, and I closed my eyes tightly, sealing off any tears that may even be thinking of falling.

What had I done? What if someone found out? Did any of them manage to give an accurate description of me or any of us to the cops? I didn't think they took a picture with a cell phone or anything, since we were keeping several sets of eyes on them and would have pounced on any attempt to record us. There were no cameras since we had scoped out the place and confirmed it.

But the biggest thought I had was of them. The family that had loved me since I first came into this shithole of a world. My mother...she would be so...ashamed. No, ashamed would be the least of it. She would see me as that little girl did. A monster. And a monster that she herself had brought into the world. This in my mind made it so much worse.

And Chris, the twin with my face, my eyes. I wouldn't be able to bear the shame in them if any of them ever found out about what I had done. The disgrace he would feel, as I had become no brother to him, would burn whatever was left of my soul in the deepest, most miserable pit of Hell. If I believed in it.

This is Hell...

I took several deep breathes. I prayed that nothing would come of this. That nobody would ever find out about what I had done, what I had participated in. I had done it for them, an attempt to improve our lot in life. I had justified it to myself for this reason. But after last night, after what Santos had done, which I had never thought could go that far, I knew there was nothing left there for me. I had become a monster in that moment.

The little girl's eyes as she looked upon me had proven it.

Nevertheless, I still clung to hope as I sat there against my bedroom door. Hope, something so mad in my head at the time that I thought I had finally lost it. Hope endures they say. And I needed it to at that moment.

I did decide one thing however. I would never do that again. I am done with that kind of life. Santos, Mike and Barry could go right to Hell if they wished, but I had had enough.

No more...

-0-

I had thought that the days would go by easier after I had made my promise to myself. That after my big, dramatic, internal decision, that it would make life go by easier. But it didn't.

Even several days later, the nightmares would still come in the night. The fatal gunshot, the mother dying, the little girl crying and pleading, and then looking at me with those wide, terrified eyes.

I lay awake, breathing hard and sweating, after a particularly bad version of that nightmare. This time, it was like I was the little girl at that store. I looked upon the now dead woman with love, feeling what that girl must have felt as they left their home to go pick up some quick snacks for the night.

We entered the store, my little hand grasped in hers, not knowing that this would be my last few minutes with her. And then I saw the robbery go down through her view, seeing Mike, Barry, and Santos holding guns to them. And then I saw myself, and I realized through her just how terrifying I had been. How I am.

I was cradled against my mother, feeling the life within her kicking as I clung to her in fear, and felt her sobs as she held my little body tight against her, desperate to protect both myself and the life growing inside her. I watched myself listening and gruffly answering the cashier, and being confused as to why the old man was being so calm and seemingly sympathetic to me.

And then I felt her as her fear ran out of control and I bolted for the door, just wanting to leave the nightmare. I heard my mother cry out, and turned to see her lunging toward me. And I saw her as Santos's bullet pierced her head and she fell to the ground, and her terror and despair shot through me, through her.

I ran to her and placed my little hands to her, screaming and crying for her, pleading for her to wake up. But she lay lifeless beneath my tiny hands, and in her stomach, one of those hands felt the little life beginning to squirm. And then I looked up and saw myself.

And I felt her fear. Oh god, I felt the fear she was showing to me. And that was when I awoke. A scream in my throat.

It took a moment to realize I was safe and sound in my bed, my naked upper body covered in cold sweat. I took deep breathes as I tried to regain my composure but it was futile. I slowly lowered myself back onto my bed, my hands over my face, and I didn't feel ashamed that I let out a quiet sob as I recalled the dream.

What have I become? Now that I had felt her terror as if it were my own, that question was burning in my head, in my heart.

I was about to get up to get some water when my door creaked open. I stood ramrod straight as the light from the hall flooded in, and I saw my brother's form enter the room. He took a step inside and gave me a look of concern.

"Michael, you alright?"

"Yeah. Just a doozy of a dream."

Chris sat down on the bed, me moving my feet to ensure he didn't crush them. We were both silent for a moment, as if enjoying the calm night before anything else could ruin it.

"I have them too you know. Dreams like that. And there really isn't anything we can do about them directly."

"What do you mean?" I asked, a moment of fear hitting me. Chris shrugged.

"Sometimes, there are things we can't change. And those are the things that can cause nightmares for a while. But eventually, they'll go away." He got up to leave.

"How do you stop your nightmares?" I asked. Chris turned to look at me, and I noticed a slight smile on his face.

"Just focus on the good in life Michael. And try to do better next time. When life puts you in a bad situation, you won't always make the right call. But you can always learn from it. So take note of what you did, and try to not make that same mistake again," With that, he stepped out and closed the door, leaving me in the darkness.

Despite us being the same age, Chris always was the wise one.

I lay back down on the bed, but kept my eyes open and staring at the ceiling, his words replaying themselves in my head. I didn't try to fall asleep, but instead slowly closed my eyes, allowing it to take me if it so wished. I would face the nightmares again if need be.

Do better next time.

-0-

But it wasn't getting any better. Not by a longshot. In fact, it was getting a whole lot worse. And it started with the broadcast from the local news.

I had been eating dinner when it came on. I was calmly munching on some of those microwaveable chicken fillets when I heard the announcer begin to speak about a robbery of a local grocery store. I was in the living room in an instant.

"Police confirm that several days ago, a group of four armed youths attempted to rob a local store in Hell's Kitchen. We have received confirmation that one of the group opened fire on hostages, killing one of the customers in the store."

And the woman's face flashed on screen. She was smiling, her face obviously shining for a special moment, if the width of her smile said anything. I felt sick to my stomach.

"The woman, Lisa Ann Baker, was killed. We now know she was expecting her second child in several weeks. A true tragedy. She leaves behind a young daughter who we are told is in the custody of extended family."

I didn't hear the rest of the broadcast. I didn't hear anything. My mind was washed of anything except the confirmation of what I had just heard, what I thought I knew, and so desperately covered up in my mind, frantically hoping that it was just my mind. That that bulge she had had been indeed a layer of fat, and not a life that was almost among us.

But it was. She had been pregnant. And was about to give birth. And now both she and her child were dead. Her before she could hold it. The infant before it could even breathe its first breathe.

And it was my fault.

You didn't pull the trigger, the back of my mind said. But I had been there and participated in the attack. I had helped herd them together. I remember holding my gun to her face and telling her to keep it quiet, making sure to look like I was going to shoot. But it was just an act for me.

But the rest apparently weren't really acting. And I was no better than them, no matter what my intent had been. And now they were both dead, with a little daughter that will never be the same again. Her childhood was destroyed by my friend's hand, which I had helped him do.

In a way, I killed her too...

I grabbed the remote and shut the TV off, throwing it on the couch. I stormed my way back to my room and closed the door behind me, once more slipping down the wood to the floor, and taking the same position I had taken earlier. Rocking myself, I kept repeating the mantra my brother had told me.

"Do better next time. Do better next time. Do better next time."

But how did I make this better? What could I do? Turn in Santos and the group? No, because his warning I knew to be serious. Santos had connections, and those connections would come for me and my family. So the law was out of the question.

What could atone for something like this? I couldn't face the little girl. She would reveal me to the police and I would be dragged out and revealed to the world, and my family would obviously be in danger as well. So that was out.

Death...

What? What did I just think to myself?

Death...

Did I seriously just think death would justify this? Was I getting a voice in my head, or is it just the craziness of my brain throwing random solutions at me in this state of distress?

Was I actually thinking of...killing myself?

-0-

The act was falling apart.

They were starting to notice, Mom and Chris. They would start by giving me concerned looks when I walked into the kitchen in the morning. I ignored it and tried to act like I had had a good night's sleep, but with the nightmares increasing; I simply couldn't keep up the act for very much longer.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Mom would ask. And I would reassure her, being forced to put more effort into my acting each morning. I knew that that moment when I finally cracked would come, but God as my witness; I would not do anything that might endanger them. It would not happen while I still drew breathe.

But what if my drawing breath could be a danger to them as well? Maybe I was going crazy, but I was honestly starting to crack. The world was so dark now, and the nightmares were creeping into my waking hours just as they tormented me in my sleep. I would keep seeing them whenever I closed my eyes, and they never went away.

Was I a coward for debating ending right here? It would again be for their sake. I made the choice to hurt those people for their sake. I made that mistake, but it was again for them. If I did indeed go through with it, it would be for their sake.

Was I being selfish? Maybe. They would be hurt if I did; badly hurt. But I knew that Mom and Chris would recover in time. They were the strong ones after all, whilst I was a miserable waste of oxygen that had gotten a little girl's mother killed. I wasn't very social; so many jobs would not suit me. My ability to support them, to me at least, was very limited.

I sat on my bed, my head down and my eyes toward the floor, and brooded further. Could I actually go forward with the act? Face death by my own doing? Stare into that veil that separated this world from the next, and step through it? Would I do it for them? To keep them safe from retribution?

Yes. Without a seconds hesitation...

And so my mind was made up. For my family's sake, I would slip behind the curtain of life, and step back no more.

-0-

Wow. Just wow. I was really going to do this. I was going to kill myself. How the hell does someone's life end up like this?

The day went by slowly after my mind had been made up. But there were some things that could not go by without being said and done. And that final talk with my family was needed.

What would I say to them? To my Mother and Brother, who I was going to do this for? What would my final words be to them? And what about after that? Was there an afterlife, or a God? In killing myself, was I damning myself?

I forced such thoughts aside. I would find out about the afterlife after it was over. It would be best to just get it over with. But how? How would I do it?

Gun? No, that could attract attention from neighbors too soon, and I didn't want anyone to find my body until after the note had been read which I planned to write just before. Even if the gun would be quick, I still couldn't guarantee it would be painless. What If I missed? It may not seem possible, but people had shot themselves and survived, so I didn't want to live the rest of my life crippled like that.

Besides, it was too much of a mess.

So what else? Hanging? Oh hell no. The thought of slowly strangling to death, since I didn't think I could drop far enough to snap my neck, sent a shiver down my spine. Drowning also sent me on the 'nope' train, since I put it in the same vein as hanging. Despite my feelings, I really wanted to go out peacefully as possible.

And in my rattled state of mind, I decided I would take pills. Just try to overload myself and go to sleep, and hope that I never awaken to this world again.

I got up and left my room and went into the living area. Mom and Chris were watching television, some show about two brothers who fought the supernatural. I didn't much care for it, but I sat on the couch next to Chris, and didn't say anything. I just sat there, letting their simple presence be my comfort.

We made some small talk, I making an all-out effort to appear normal. But the charade didn't quite work completely. Mother noticed; how typical.

"Michael, are you alright?" she asked, concern in her voice. Oh Mom, if only you knew...

"Yeah Mom. I'm good."

"You're shaking. Are you sure?"

Shit, I was shaking. Sorry, but the thought that I was going to die tonight was rather hard on the nerves.

"Yes, Mom. I'm good to go. Just a little chilled. That's all." Mother looked at me for a moment and then reached over to take a blanket that was folded over the chair she was sitting. Walking over, she draped it over me, actually tucking me in at the sides.

That simple maternal act almost made me cry out and forget the whole thing. Something so simple, and yet a familiar act of maternal love can send someone reeling, especially if they thought they would never experience it again. And I was not expecting to feel it again, this simple act of affection.

"Are you completely sure? Honey, there is something clearly bothering you. Please just tell me what it is," she almost pleaded.

"Santos and I had a sort of falling out."

"Santos? What happened?"

"We...disagreed over something. It got pretty rough, but it's over," I answered. Mother stared for a moment, and I maintained eye contact, making sure my body language seemed confident. She nodded.

"Alright hon. To be honest, I never really liked Santos anyway. He and his groupies were a seriously bad influence on you." I chuckled despite myself at that.

"Well Mom, you can be rest assured that whatever we had is over for good."

She laughed. "I'm glad to hear it." She returned to her chair and we continued to watch the film. I wanted to say something to Chris, anything, but I simply couldn't find my words. It was as though the cloud of impending death had settled over my mouth, and no words would break through it.

The night came. They would leave for work shortly, and I walked over to see them out. I prayed they would not notice my hand shaking. I embraced Chris first.

"Have a good night Chris."

"Whoa there Michael. You usually aren't a hugger. What gives?" he asked. I just shrugged.

"I guess you could say I'm feeling more affectionate tonight."

"I guess so."

I pulled back and stared into my twin brother's face, seeing myself looking back at me as though he were a living mirror. I gave him a playful slap on the shoulder.

"Now go get em'."

I turned and walked to my Mother as she was putting on her coat. When she had it on securely, I embraced her as well, noticing that I was putting more into this embrace then with Chris. Must be the fact that it was Mom, and the last time I would hold her. Yeah that was it.

If my out of ordinary affection was noticed by Chris, Mother didn't say anything about it. She simply wrapped her arms around me and we held each other for a moment. I so seriously wanted to extend this, but knowing that anything longer would arouse suspicion, I reluctantly let go. She gave me a warm smile, her eyes twinkling.

Oh God, how I would be missing that smile...

"We'll be back by morning hon. Just rest up here for now. You've been acting awfully funny lately, and it's best to just stay in for tonight."

"I was planning on doing so anyway. I'll be fine Mom."

"I know Michael. You always are. Take care."

She gave me a quick peck on the forehead, and then both she and Chris were stepping outside the apartment door. Before it closed, I said one final line.

"I love you..."

"Love you too, Michael," came Mom's reply.

And then they were gone. I stood there awkwardly in the living room, staring at the door for however long, I do not know. I didn't know what I was waiting for. Maybe they would forget something and I would decide on another night. Maybe they would be called off for tonight. But nothing was there except empty silence. I swallowed.

"Goodbye..."

-0-

I knew that I would need to get this over with quickly. The quicker I did it, the more time I would have in case something went wrong. And I also really just wanted to get it over with.

I sat down and picked up a pen. With a shaking hand, I wrote down everything that had happened, Me and Santos's group going to the store, the robbery we had planned and committed, and Santos's shooting of the mother, where I tried to stress is what went completely off script. I wrote of my fight with them and the money stashed under the bed.

I wrote of my increasing guilt, and the way I could never get that little girl out of my head. How I had failed them by participating in this, and why I had decided to end it all. I warned them of Santos's threat, and urged them to simply let that slide. For their sake.

I steadied my hand as I wrote, but the moment I had finished, and lifted the pen from the paper, I felt it trembling. I made no effort to stop it this time. There was no need to hide from what was about to happen. No mask to put on and no disguise to don. I was about to die, and my body knew it and was afraid, even as my mind accepted it.

I placed the note on my nightstand, so it could be quickly found when I was discovered. There were no tears falling, no uneasy breathing. My mind however, was racing. I may have accepted my impending death in my head, but I still couldn't seem to completely focus. All that was in my head now was to take the pills from the cabinet.

In my state of mind, I guess I just didn't care for what pills I took. I simply opened what containers I could find and poured several of them into my hand until I had a handful of each. I took a deep breath and slowly walked to the kitchen, pouring myself a large glass of water. My hands were shaking in earnest now, and several drops of water fell to the floor as I made my way back to my room, knowing it would be the last time.

I sat on the bed and took a deep breathe.

 _If you want to stop, now is the time._

No...This ends now.

I began to pop the pills in my mouth, taking a drink of water after each. I began to feel sick to my stomach, but ignored it until I got to the last, taking a last deep breathe before swallowing it as well, drinking the last of my water.

I began to feel sick, nauseous. I didn't think it would be this way. I imagined, hopefully, that I would drift off to sleep and not wake up. But the feeling grew and grew, and I lay upon the bed and crossed my arms over my chest, letting myself breathe consciously for the last time. I began to feel faint as well.

I slowly closed my eyes and saw the girl's eyes once more, afraid.

Please, I thought. Let this be my redemption...

With all hope, this would finally kill the pain...

And it was at that moment, when I finally thought I would pass out, that all hell broke loose.

 **I meant to put this inn the first chapter, but didn't think about it until until it was posted. This story is being betad "All Alone In The Rain". She know the Marvel Universe much more than I do, so she'll be looking through the chapters before they're posted, making sure grammar is good and the characters are up to par with what we expect. Check her out if you have the time.**

 **This is going to be my longest story, since I have a full arc planned. I hope you are enjoying these first chapters. The Avengers won't be coming for a while, since we obviously need the origin story segments first.**


	3. A Fiery Start

**Beta read by "All Alone In The Rain".**

 **Chapter 3: A Fiery Start  
**

Drift away...drift away...

I felt the sensation of falling. I felt so blissful, as if the world, with it's faults and failings, no longer mattered. I felt light as a feather in free fall, my eyes closing on their own accord. This feeling was a paradise to what I had been feeling for so long, and I never, ever, wanted it to stop. And that is just when it did, and a new, different sensation began.

I felt it begin at my feet. A strange hardening encasing my feet and slowly, but at the same time very noticeable, beginning to run up my lower legs. I furrowed my brow and tried to think what it may be, the sensation of bliss beginning to quickly depart. To be replaced by confusion and to be honest, a little bit of pain. And then it felt as though my feet and my legs were on fire from within, and I shot up to inspect what was happening. What I saw took my breathe away, and I could not lie. I panicked.

My lower body, and going even further up, seemed to be encased in some kind of rough, cocoon like structure. I couldn't see what was causing it, yet it was starting to encase my waist now. I tried to scream, but my voice was gone, as if the shock of it was removing the power of my vocal cords to emit sounds. I clawed frantically at the strange material that seemed to grow out of me, but it was of no avail, and it spread past my waist to my stomach.

Help me! Please, somebody!

My hands clawed at the stuff with greater ferocity, but not even the strongest tearing I could muster would get it off. If I wasn't in full blown panic mode before, I reached that point now, since the stuff was now reaching past my chest. I felt tears of fear slip down my cheeks, and I whimpered as the stuff moved to the edge of my neck.

I felt helpless as it moved over my mouth, nose, and finally, my eyes. Darkness, a great swirling darkness enveloped me, and I couldn't make a sound trapped in this strange cocoon of whatever the hell it was. I couldn't even tell if I was actually breathing. Yes, I really couldn't even tell if I was breathing or not.

The fire that had been burning in my legs when this all started and had been traveling with the "cocooning" shit was now within me everywhere. But now, instead of perceiving it as pain, something in me registered it as something else. My mind was registering it as "change". It was as if the fire was the sensation of something deep in me changing me, redoing itself. I couldn't wrap my mind around it, but my it was there, deep in my mind's recesses.

What the hell is happening to me?

I don't know how long it lasted. For all I know, this whole process could have just been seconds, but it felt so much longer in my eyes. With the state of mind that I had been in when I took the pills, anything was possible. Could what is happening to me be some kind of hallucination? Could it be like that this quick? I was no medical expert, so hell if I knew. All I knew was the blackness of this cocoon like shape that I was now inside of.

And then, as quickly as if had begun, I felt the burn fade. My body was starting to feel like normal again. And then I heard a crunching sound, and as my mind wondered just what fresh hell that was, I felt the cocoon begin to crumble around my hands. As soon as I was moving my fingers, I felt my feet become free. And then my legs, my stomach and chest. Finally, my face was clear, and my mouth flew open in a deep gasp, as if I was taking my first breathe of life all over again.

And that is when I saw what had happened. That crunching sound, combined with my body "waking up" had been the cocoon crumbling away. And now I was laying in a pile of ashy crumbs, my bed sheets completely covered, the floor equally coated in the strange, gray ashes. I stared at the mess for a long time, breathing in air and trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened. And that is when I felt the bile rise in my throat, and a wave of nausea come over me.

I threw myself off my bed and sprinted into the bathroom, performing what might have been some kind of ninja move as the toilet lid was thrown open and my head stuck inside the bowl, and my guts came gushing out in a rather spectacular episode of projectile vomiting. With my head in the bowl, there wasn't nearly as much of a mess as it could be, and I held myself steady there as whatever I had put in me recently forced it's way right back out the way it had come.

After dry heaving several times, I decided that my stomach had been fully vacated. I lay upon the cold floor next to the toilet, taking several deep breathes. I still couldn't believe what had happened, and I think my mind was deliberately avoiding the attempt to do so until I wasn't heaving for air in the bathroom. The stench was harsh, and I reached up and hit the flush, sending my expunged contents down the drain, removing the smell to a degree. Slowly I stood up and walked out of the bathroom, finally able to appreciate that my Mother or Chris weren't here to find this.

I stared at my bed with disbelief. It was completely covered in that stuff, and I walked over t where a good chunk of it was still intact. I picked it up and gave it a slight rub, and felt it disintegrate between my fingers, turning into a pile of ash, to join the already large amount that I was going to have to find a way to get rid of. If I could wrap my mind over the fact that some freaky ass shit had just gone down!

What happened to me? What the hell is this stuff? Just...just..what the HELL!?

I closed my eyes tightly and cleared my head. I needed some air, desperately. I had to get away from whatever the hell had happened, and just breathe some clean, refreshing oxygen in a non-confined space. I looked down to brush off however much of the stuff I could find, and grabbed my coat, hurrying out the door, and making sure to lock it before I got out. At least my mind was clear enough to not lock myself out. That would spell disaster.

I slowly walked down the sidewalk next to the apartment complex, trying to sort out the details in my head. Okay, so I had taken pills to kill myself. I had been covered in some kind of cocoon for a brief time. Then it had crumbled and I threw up. Were there any details I was missing? Maybe. But I couldn't focus on them right now.

Strangely, I thought back to that attack several years ago, by aliens. Yeah, even now, that was incredible. Actual full blown aliens had attacked the city. And I remembered taking shelter with my Mom and Chris in the shelter the apartment had, listening over the radio about the attack, taking place with Stark Tower being right in the center.

Wait a minute. I'm thinking about aliens attacking New York City right after I was wrapped up in some kind of cocoon after taking a bunch of pills. What does this mean? Am I actually considering what happened to me to be something...alien? I'm still trying to convince myself that this is just a dream that I'll wake up from at any minute now!

For that matter, how am I just taking a walk after that. I get cocooned in some strange shit, throw my guts up in the toilet, and now I'm going for a walk. An right before that, I was trying to kill myself. Just what in the hell am I doing? Shouldn't I be trying to clean that stuff up before Mom comes home and finds it? Or for that matter, anyone big into that kind of freaky ass stuff.

I walked down the alley as my mind continued to race in the "mind gaggle" I was having with myself. I noticed that I was shaking and I held my hands inside my jacket, trying to warm them. It was a chilly night, and I would have loved to just sit down in front of a heater or something as I collected my thoughts and tried to wrap my head over recent events.

Finally, I simply crouched next to an open dumpster, trying to use it to get out of the wind. I breathed air on my hands, as my jacket was not doing much good. I would need to get back home just to get warm, and try to clean up the mess that had been made in my room.

God, it's cold.

I looked over at the dumpster, my nose crinkling with the smell. Despite the stench, I would love if that trash would catch fire and give me some warmth. That would be so nice...

I focused on the trash, narrowing my eyes. I tried to imagine it catching fire and feeling the warmth spread over my body. The sweet feel of heaven on a cold night...

WOOOSH!

With a sudden, startling roar, the inside of the dumpster suddenly lit up in a huge flame. The heat was sudden and explosive, and the light was blinding in the darkness. As I had been crouched right next to it, I let out a squeal and scrambled from my spot, actually crawling several feet before I finally found my footing. I whirled around and stared.

 _What the FUCK just happened_!?

The contents of the dumpster were burning brightly, though the initial rush of flames had stopped. The night was lit up in an orange glow, and just as I had imagined, there was the nice feel of warmth spread over me. But that was no longer the focus of my attention, as the fact that a dumpster had just suddenly, and without warning, caught fire in such a way was far more noticeable.

I heard some cries of alarm from behind me, and turned to see a small crowd standing behind me. They were staring in the same awe as I was at the dumpster's blaze, but several of them noticed me standing close to it, and were clearly thinking differently.

"Hey, did you set that dumpster on fire?" one of them shouted out.

"That's arson kid!" another yelled.

I tried to respond, but surprise only caused me to shake my head frantically. I didn't need a crowd throwing accusations at me. I suddenly whirled around to find the fire had found it's old strength, and was blazing even higher than before. I heard people calling the fire department and cops behind me, and I swore that I heard someone say the word "arson".

Well, the settled it. Despite how strange this was, I bolted past it, racing back the way I had come. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I heard cries of alarm and a blast of heat behind me. I turned to see that the fire was starting to get big enough, or hot enough, that several garbage cans next to it had caught fire as well. But I didn't stat to watch this either, and continued to run, hoping that there were no one chasing me.

I didn't stop running until I was back to the apartment building. I slipped inside, made my way up, and let myself back in. I closed and locked the door behind me, and then felt myself begin to hyperventilate. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to count to slowly to 10, hoping that that would calm myself down.

I paced back and forth in the apartment for what seemed to be an hour, just thinking. The events in my head were like a bad dream, or maybe at least a very weird one. Could I still wake up? Or was I firmly grounded in real life? Did shit like this even happen in reality?

Then again, I didn't expect aliens to rain from the heavens and attack us. Or for giant robots to try to drop a entire city on the Earth and make humans go the way of the dinosaurs. If shit like that happened, then something like this must be pretty tame by comparison.

Was I actually comparing what was happening to me, a low life in a cheap apartment, to something like what the avengers did? Maybe I needed to stop thinking and check something in my room. I slowly walked back to my room and gently slid the door open. And it was still there.

The gray ashy substance that had enveloped me was still scattered about the room, and my bed was still covered in the stuff. Well, I thought. That rules out the possibility of a nightmare.

Now to try and clean this mess up. I needed to make sure nothing like this was found before my Mom or Chris got home. Otherwise there would be questions, and this was not the time to be badgering me with questions.

I grabbed whatever utensils I thought I would need, and began to sweep up the stuff from the bed first into a trash bag. I kept going until there seemed too little to simple sweep up, and then took off the bed sheets, waving a few in the air a few times to get the little dust off. I continued going until I thought the bed was relatively clean, or at least the ash was not noticeable. Then I tore down the bed completely and threw the sheets into a washer. I would make an excuse later. I grabbed some clean sheets from the closet and laid them on the bed.

I then took the vacuum cleaner and took pains to make sure I swept every square inch of my room around the bed, and leading to the bathroom. I wanted to not leave the slightest evidence behind. I worked with fervor, and I soon decided that not a single particle of that stuff remained in the carpet. Checking the bathroom floor, I simply wet a couple of tissues and washed up the little clumps that could be found on the floor.

After all this and changing out my sheets, I sat on the bed and shivered. What had happened here tonight had undermined my whole reality, and I simply did not know what to make of it. I did the same thing I had done when I first came home after that night in the store. And then I made the mistake of thinking about that girl again, and when the pressure in my head became to much, I let out a whimper, and immediately smelled smoke.

What the...

I turned to my desk to see that a piece of paper had caught fire. Before I could see what had caused it, I sprung up and beat on the sheet with my hands, blowing frantically as well. It was soon sputtered out and I stood there in disbelief. Just what the hell was going on here? As my mind tried to decipher the mystery, I saw the corner of my bed sheet begin to smoke.

Letting out a slight gasp, I rushed over and blew on it, and spit on my fingers to gently rub the burned area. It was small enough not to worry about changing the sheets again, but that didn't ease matters. What the hell is causing this!? Why are things in my room deciding to suddenly catch fire!?

Then I remembered the dumpster only became a contained inferno right after I had yearned for warmth, and then imagined it doing so. What did that mean? Did that weird cocoon thing do something to me? Give me some kind of ability?

Oh for the love of god...did I suddenly gain some kind of superpower, right after trying to kill myself, all in one night? Is this some kind of twist of fate? Would somebody, or something, tell me just what on god's green Earth was going on here?

Nothing had been the same since that night in the store...

Okay, think about this. This weird fire thing is happening whenever you are getting upset. So how about we try and not get upset about this? We have just had a shit-ton of bizarre, alien looking crap happen to you, so how about we just get into our freshly made bed and just try to sleep?

I actually let out a slight grin. Sometimes, my brain really did work. Maybe not all the time, but when it did, it came up with some tolerable suggestions. Maybe trying to sleep and not think of anything that would upset me could stop this. Maybe this was just some fluke of life that will be gone by morning. Maybe God will be nice for once and actually give me some normalcy in this case.

Shit in one hand, and wish in the other. See which one gets filled first...

I ignored that pessimistic thought, and curled into my bed, letting the freshness of the sheets lull me into comfort. I cleared my head of any and all thought as best I could. When something unhappy tried to creep in, I let out a twenty one gun salute of artillery and forced myself to think of something less bad, violent, or just plain wrong.

I don't know how long I lay there, trying my strategy. I kept tossing and turning, despite the relative comfort and warmth of the sheets. At one point swore that I smelled smoke, and bolted upright, panicked that I had somehow set fire to something else, if that indeed was what was happening. But a quick look around confirmed that it was but my imagination, and I settled back into bed, my eyes closed, desperate to escape this new nightmare.

I don't know when I finally drifted off. But eventually, I found it to be morning, and I heard the sounds from the kitchen as breakfast was being made. I yawned and looked around, desperate to see if the events of yesterday was but a dream, or some fluke of my head.

No, the sheets on the bed were what I had changed them into. And I bet if I looked in the trash can, I would find the bag of ashes I had scooped up into it. Slipping out of bed, I found the toilet seat in the bathroom was up, since I had not bothered to put it down in my haste to get away last night after my stomach's forced eviction.

I made a point to put it down before Mom came in. Hell hath no fury like a woman who finds the toilet seat up...

And then I made my way, sluggishly, to the kitchen. Mother was making toast, and I could dimly hear the toaster doing it's thing. She had her back to me as I sat down, and turned several seconds later, giving me a small smile, which quickly turned to concern.

"Michael, are you alright? You look like you had a rough night."

"Didn't sleep well last night. Kept tossing and turning. I'm alright though," I answered.

She swallowed but didn't say anything else. The toaster popped several slices and Mom scooped them onto a plate, laying it out for me. I picked one up and bit into it, the smell awakening my hunger.

Ugh. Clearly, the toaster was not fully operating right now, because these actually tasted kind of less than done. I growled gently and stared at the toast in annoyance, wishing it to be toasted just a little longer.

I should have just asked Mom to pop it back in for a few seconds. Because it was at that point that the toast caught fire.

I let out a hiss of surprise and dropped it back onto my plate. Mother turned and gasped as she saw the toast burning, though it was mercifully a small fire. She stood there in shock as I dumped the contents of the plate very carefully into the sink and poured water over it, dousing the flame. I turned to her, my mouth open to try and make some kind of excuse,sarcastic remake, or least likely an explanation. But I was speechless, just as much as she was.

"Did that toast...did that toast just catch fire...?" she asked slowly, disbelief clearly on her features. I simply nodded.

"Must have been..." think brain, think! "Something wrong with the toaster."

I don't know how bad that explanation was, but it could have been worse. Or maybe it couldn't and I was just too wrapped up in recent events to see it. Either way, my Mom had just seen this happen right before her eyes. So the world of shit was about to come down, and it was gonna be a rainy day.

"Michael, why would the toaster cause toast that's already out of the toaster to catch fire?"

"I don't know, Mom. I'm not an expert on toasters."

"But there wasn't anything that could cause it to suddenly start burning like that."

"I'm sorry Mom. But it's not like I wished the toast to catch fire."

Oh boy...

"But why would it catch fire out of nowhere like that? That was full on fire.."

"Maybe we have a pyromaniac poltergeist around now..." Mom narrowed her eyes with me in an annoyed "Really?" look. What the hell else could I say? Hey Mom, I know this is going to sound weird, but I tried to kill myself last night and took some pills. Then I got cocooned in some weird gray shit and broke out with these awesome fiery powers. I can apparently set my homework on fire now! Now my Math work can finally burn in Hell like I always wished! Hooray for me!

While it sounded fun in my head, I doubted it would go very well with my Mother. It was at that precise moment that Chris decided to stroll on in, a cheery look on his face, and he stopped to see us staring agape at each other.

"What's up? Bad time for breakfast? Maybe I should come back later?"

Chris's arrival seemed to snap my Mom out of her confused stupor. She shook her head. "We'll get to the bottom of this later. Maybe it's just a fluke somehow. Want some toast Chris?"

"Don't mind if I do."

"You too Michael?" she asked. I nodded.

"Just make sure you toast it well this time Mom. I think something might be off with the toaster..."

-0-

I decided to go for a walk.

Yes, there is a chance something else might catch fire. So maybe it could end up being a selfish decision on my part. Maybe I should just stay in my room until I figure out what was causing this, like I had some kind of sickness. But that's just not me. I needed to move.

So I went for a brisk walk down the streets. It was too crowded to do anything else like jogging, but I felt comfortable with the pace I was at. This wasn't a workout for me. I just needed to get out of the house and into the open air. Maybe this would work and I could forget things for a while.

I still couldn't believe that I was doing this. Sure after last night and the toast setting itself on fire right after I thought about how under-done it was should have been enough to set off the alarm bells in my head, but come on now. How can someone really be able to make things burn just by thinking it? Or being emotional? That alone was scary. Imagine a PMS enraged young woman with the ability to burn the world down. That may have been a sexist thought, but I am a young man. Or so I may think.

Call it denial. Yeah, I guess that was my problem. There are things in this world that are just so strange, so against what we believe, that we try to shut them out. We pretend that they don't exist, or that they are just our imagination. And when we go to sleep at night, they are gone, never to haunt us again.

I don't know if what I was doing was pure denial. I wasn't the type to completely disregard anything without anything to base its nonexistence of off. I had never heard an argument I believed for the existence of a god, despite the reveal of Thor some time ago. But that didn't make me think there wasn't one entirely.

So while I didn't want to entertain the thought that I was a walking unwilling psychic pyromaniac, I couldn't completely discard the possibility. Everything that had happened since I tried to die was pointing me in that direction. But unless I directly caused it, as in focused on something and made it happen deliberately, I wouldn't be completely convinced.

What about that dumpster last night? Didn't I want it to catch fire and warm me up? Well, yeah, but I also didn't mean that literally.

I let my mind calm me with reassuring thoughts as I walked through the blocks of neighborhood. I let the chilly air fill my lungs, and to be honest, I was surprised that I really didn't feel much discomfort, if at all. I used to be coughing when I breathed cold air in deeply. But now it felt the same as room temperature. I had been hoping that my body could warm it up for me, and it did.

Well, that is something I can get behind, I thought. Still doesn't prove anything.

I made my way to a local park, and found a bench in a secluded area. I sat down and watched the sky above me, thinking about what my life had come to, and what it could lead to. If I really had some new ability like that, what could that entail...

Superhero? Bah. Even if I really was developing pyrokinetic powers, a hero is something I am not. My foolishness at being dragged along with Santos and the group her rode with rendered anything like that disproved. I obviously wasn't a villain, since I had fled after seeing that girl's eyes as she looked at me with fear. Villains didn't do that. They laughed at things like that, embraced it. So that wasn't me either.

Nearby, I could hear the sound of children laughing. I couldn't help but give a small smile. Something about that particular laugh always had a warming effect on me. I guess it was just something innocent like that that triggers those sensations in some people. Whatever I was...maybe I wasn't a monster like I first thought.

I continued to listen to the sounds of laughter as the children played, though I could not quite see them. I was content to sit here and listen to the sounds of life around me when I heard the laughter stop. And then a loud, gruff sounding voice instead, though I couldn't understand what it was. I tilted my head to focus attention on it and that's when I heard the crying, the pleading.

I shot up from the bench and speed walked to the area where I was hearing the sounds. There were very few people in the park at this time, and I saw no one as I made my way to the source of the sounds of distress. It didn't take me much time at all to find the source. Keeping myself concealed in the trees so as to not draw unwarranted attention, I peered out from cover.

A little girl, seemingly no older than the girl in the store from that night was struggling with a large man, and I do mean large. He was bald, his skin pasty white, his arms looked like he wrestled with bears, and he obviously was not a skipper of leg day. Across his bare arms were various curving tattoos, and one was even etched across his face, down over his left eye.

The little girl was quite small, obviously for someone so young. Her hair was long and blonde, and her eyes, wide enough with fright, seemed to be the color of a summer sky. She looked like quite an adorable child, and I wondered if this man was actually thinking of doing a kidnapping for the ransom. Hell, the way he looked, he could be some kind of human trafficking worker.

He snarled and lashed his arm forward, grabbing the girl with a practiced technique that caught her off guard, and she let out a cry of pain as his hand wrapped around the base of her neck, squeezing the tender points. She clawed desperately at her attacker, but he was impervious to all her attempts, her little arms no match for his bulk.

I saw the scene unfold before me, and I felt something within. Some kind of burning desire. The little girl's cries were enraging me, boiling my blood to the point of meltdown, or so I thought. My vision was getting slightly red after all. I slowly stepped out, my fists clenched and my body tensed.

He turned and noticed me, and there was a brief stare down. Looking me up and down, he obviously didn't consider me and my lean frame to be a threat to this monster of a human. And what kind of man but a monster would be trying to hurt a little girl out of sight?

"Beat it kid," he growled, his voice low and threatening. But even knowing that this man could pummel me if he got his arms around me, I would not let this slide. This was driving me over an edge that I should be scared of, but couldn't help but embrace.

"Let the girl go," I replied in what I hoped was just as threatening as his own tone. His eyes widened slightly in shock, and he gripped the girl close to him, eliciting another whimper. My teeth grit together almost of their own accord. I felt an urge to do something horrible to this man. To hurt or even kill him in one of the worst, possible ways.

If I truly had some kind of ability to set things on fire, then I was going to burn this man alive...

He grinned and began to slowly walk toward me. Despite my obvious physical disadvantage in that regard, I braced myself for an attack. And my mind seemed to take an almost altered state. Seeing this helpless girl being harmed had sent a surge of confident anger through me, and I embraced it wholeheartedly. My vision went red as he stepped closer to me. I felt my hand go red hot, yet it still didn't seem to register as pain.

Suddenly he lunged forward, his hand reaching as if to grab my throat, and I jumped back. In my jumping back, I thrust my hand out and slapped his arm at the wrist. I know I wouldn't be able to slap away a thrust from someone that big, and I acted purely on reflex. But I heard a yelp of pain and he recoiled back several feet, grasping his wrist.

"The hell-!?"

He opened his hand and I could see what looked like scorch marks along the wrist of his arm, where I had slapped his hand. I stared at it in shock for a moment as he gaped at the wound, and then glanced down at my hands. They seemed normal as far as I could tell. But in doing so, I made the mistake of taking my eyes of him.

I felt the blow hit me like a freight train. He full on tackled me to the ground with a hit that rattled me to the core. We hit the ground, and I felt the air blow out of me. I gasped for air as his hands encased my throat in an iron grip.

"What are you!? Are you some kind of freak!?" I heard him yell. I grabbed at his hands, trying to pry them off my throat. But my efforts were futile, for his grip was just too strong. I was completely outclassed here. My other hand reached out and fumbled around for anything at all to use. My vision was beginning to become blurry when I felt my hand grasp something hard and solid, just large enough to fit in my hand.

A rock. That'll do.

"Come on...die already!" I heard him snarl. And if the black spots in my vision were an indication of anything, it was that I had better act quickly if I wanted to not do so. I Swung my hand around as hard as I could, bringing what I was pretty sure was a rock to his temple. And I was right about it being a rock. It slammed into his head and he yelled in pain, his hands releasing my head. He stood up quickly, grasping his head, and I was immediately coughing, trying to get air back.

My vision cleared slightly as he recovered. I managed to sit upright and he glared at me with murder in his eyes. Blood slowly seeped from the gash I had made to the side of his head. Seeing the look in his eyes sent an icy shock of fear through my system.

"You'll die for that, punk," he growled. Then he began to march over to me once more, and out of desperation, I flailed my arm out as he reached for me.

And then he was flung backward as though it had been him that was tackled back. But I had seen nothing hit him. It looked as though some invisible force had sent him reeling through the air several feet, to land on his side with a loud oomph. I watched with disbelief at the scene, wondering just what the hell was happening. Then he rolled over and began to whimper in pain, and I saw the wound he had. It wasn't from the fall.

The front of his shirt seemed to have been ripped open, and beneath it, the flesh was blackish and smoldering, as though someone had set him on fire from one lower side of his stomach to the upper portion of his chest. There was a sickening smell of burnt flesh, and I swallowed the bile in my throat at the smell.

Slowly I rose up, as he continued to make sounds between a scream and a whimper. I watched him in some kind of strange fascination that now gripped me, as he continued to make his sounds of pain. The fear I had felt was gone, and now I stared at him with an neutral gaze. Slowly, as if my legs moved of their own accord, I walked over to him. He whimpered at my approached and scooted away. I walked closer and closer and he tried to flail his body away, but I was soon upon him.

He looked up at me, and for the first time, I saw genuine fear in his eyes. His mouth blubbered something unintelligible out, and I continued to stare at him.

"Stay away! Don't...please don't..." he was pleading, as if he sensed something very bad was about to happen to him. And if what I felt arising within me was any indication, it was about to indeed.

As I stared at this man, this man who had been hurting a little girl, who had obviously been planning something horrible, I felt an anger arise in me that burned me from within. I felt my fists clench of their own accord, and then realized that it wasn't of their own accord at all. This anger burning within me was indeed my own, and I grit my teeth and my gaze went from neutral, to silent fury.

I focused my eyes on him, and I imagined him burning. burning in flames as though roasting the supposed "Lake Of Fire". The fury I felt was building more and more, and my eyes must have betrayed those emotions, as the man's pleas became more and more desperate.

"I...I won't do it again..." he pleaded. "Don't kill me...please..."

And I uttered a single word that sealed the deal.

"No..."

 _Burn..._

I was transfixed as I watched his body smoke. He screamed and flailed around as his entire body began to smolder, as if someone had set his insides on fire and the flames were trying to break out. And then it began. His chest caught a blaze and lit up in a flame similar to how the dumpster the other night had done. The man screamed in pure agony as his entire body was suddenly alight in fire, and his skin began to melt away.

Through it all, I remained calm, focused. Burn, burn, burn.

His screams died out as his body disappeared in the blaze of yellow fire. I kept my gaze upon him until the fire slowly died out, and what lay before me was a mix of ashes and charcoal like bones. The entire sequence had taken no more than maybe a minute, and now the trance I held was suddenly broken. I took a deep breathe and stepped back, suddenly seeing the effects of what I had done.

Yes. What I had done. There was no more denying it now. Something strange had happened to me, and now I could set things on fire. As I have just done. I just set someone of fire.

I just burned someone alive. And reduced them to ashes. Oh god...

I felt bile rise in my throat and I turned and heaved, the smell finally registering with me. Not much to throw up this time, thank God for small favors. I gasped for air several times, sniffling as well. I closed my eyes and took a deep breathe.

Footsteps. Coming closer.

I whirled around to see the little girl the man had been trying to grab behind me. She looked from the pile of ashes to me, and my face must have taken on the look of something like fear. Her eyes were wide and afraid, and for one horrible moment I was back in that store, looking into the eyes of a girl who now saw a monster. Only this time, I really must have seemed like one.

She took another step toward me, and another. Finally, she stood before me, and I looked down at her as she looked up at me. And then she did something I wasn't expecting at all. Her little arms wrapped around my waist, and she slowly rested her head on my stomach.

What this girl was thinking I didn't know. Maybe she wasn't thinking at all, since she was embracing someone who had just willed someone else, a living human being, to burn alive. But as I felt her arms tighten around me, a different sensation encompassed me, and this time, the fire in me became warm. Pleasantly warm.

"Thank you..." I heard her whisper. And almost on their own, my own arms slipped around her shoulders and gave her a firm squeeze.

And despite what I had just done...I felt something else. Peace. The fire in my veins was gone.

-0-

I sat on my bed in stone silence, the night still going on outside my room's window. I stared at my door, though not at my door. My mind played all the visual footage it had received over the last few days, most especially the events of just several hours ago.

Should I feel bad about what I did? He may have been a very bad man, but he was still a living, breathing human. He laughed and cried, and I know for damn sure he felt pain, if his final moments of life were any indication. And I had just killed someone in one of the worst ways to die. Immolation. From within.

But at the same time, what would he have done to that little girl? From the look of this guy, he didn't seem like the type that was simply trying to get by. He looked, and was acting, like some kind of snatcher. Like he was going to try and kidnap that girl and sell her. I knew there was some kind of human trafficking thing going around only a short time ago. Could it be that it still wasn't completely over?

Or was I mistaken in that regard. All I know was he was hurting a helpless child, and that he had come at me with death in his eyes when I tried to stop him. That must indicate something. Would my actions be justified then? Would they hold up in the eyes of humanity?

All things considered, there was something else I knew this night. It felt really good to help that poor girl. When she hugged me in her innocent gratitude, I felt a peace that I had not felt in weeks. For just a moment, all the pain was gone and guilt was gone. I had made sure a girl could sleep better for at least one night. That a monster, even if in human form, was gone from this world, and would never harm her or anyone else ever again.

And so there was only one thing left to do. I reached over to my desk and picked up my suicide note. On this piece of paper, I had written out my last words. I had signed a death certificate with my own hands. And now that I knew what had happened to me when I tried to die had truly given me these...abilities..for better or for worse.

Would I learn to control them? Could I even teach myself to control them? Well, I had just made somebody self combust. So now I knew I could do this. I left my room and stepped across the hall to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

I placed the note in the sink. And read my words for a final time. Then I made my choice. I stared at the note and focused.

Burn.

Immediately, the note caught fire. I watched as it quickly engulfed the paper in a small blaze there in the sink, and I stared as my letters turned to ash, just like my desire to die. And I knew it had to be that little girl that had changed it all for me, right then and there. I let the note burn, and the turned on the sink, letting the fire die out in the water.

I cleaned up after myself, and made sure all lights in the apartment were out. Entering my room, I turned off the light and stripped down, climbing into my bed and wrapping the sheets around me. I closed my eyes and slowly, ever so slightly, let a smile cross my face.

 _I'm ready_ , I told myself. Or was I...?

 **Well, now we know his power, or at least a sample of it. One must wonder what kind of potential someone who suddenly has the power to make things, including people, go up in flames. Review and give me your thoughts. Until the next chapter, take care.**


	4. A Choice

Chapter 4: A Choice

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since that night. When I made the choice to burn a man alive from the inside in order to protect a little girl. Three weeks since I had become both a killer, a taker of life, and a savior to a helpless girl.

I didn't think of myself as a murderer. Killing and Murder were two separate things. If he had been a man just taking a walk and I walked up and took his life for his money, belongings, or just for the psychotic hell of it, then I would be a murderer, the very definition of one. But he wasn't. He had been trying to hurt someone, and so my taking of his life was justified. Right?

Right?

Maybe I was overthinking it. He was dead and gone, and couldn't harm anyone else. So I should just evict his memory from my mind, and continue on with my life, as weird as it had become lately. But there was something about taking a life, I guess, that stuck with you. It was the first time I ever had. Even in the times I helped Santos and the group with the money heists, I had not killed anyone. Hell, only Santos had done so. But my part in that was enough to make me want to die, and so led to all this.

And it was my first. The first life I ever took. Would that be the last? I didn't know. I didn't exactly go out that night wanting to be a hero. I had simply been at the right place at the right time, or was it the other way around? If the world needed a new hero, I thought that me, with my history, would be the last one it would need, or want.

But there was also something else I couldn't deny. The gratitude that little girl gave me gave me such a powerful sensation of...accomplishment. Like winning an award. Maybe that would be a very selfish reason to go all "vigilante by night". But the fact was there are very bad people out there that deserve to burn. Or was burning them alive too harsh of a fate?

Wait a minute. Strike that thought. Was I actually thinking, making a conscientious, internal debate, about going vigilante? To literally become like those strange, masked people who go out and beat down criminals and the wrong doers? Like that "Daredevil" guy that came to the scene a while ago? He had been overshadowed by that whole thing in Europe with Sokovia, but I won't deny that I was still fascinated by the man.

Or what about that other guy? The famous web slinger. He apparently called himself "Spiderman" or so the newspapers have coined him. I wondered what it was about him that caused him to have the urge to go out at night, or even broad daylight for that matter, and do what he does. Granted, he wears a full body costume so it wasn't like his face was being plastered everywhere. But still, I could never allow myself to be so openly public like that.

I'm not even sure that I am the kind of person that does that sort of thing. I stole to help my family pay bills. Didn't that make a villain, if by necessity? So honestly, what would my motivation be to go out and help people? Sure it felt really good to help that little girl but there are things that are better left to others.

Like those who can control their own abilities more...

That would be a kicker. It had been several weeks since this started, and I was still slipping on the control aspect of all this. Hell, I just accepted that this had happened to me several weeks ago. It wasn't like I was suddenly able to completely control it. Sure I set a man alight but the problem was when it happened when I didn't want it to.

Just the night after I killed the snatcher guy, I was sitting in my room, and stubbed my toe on my bed, pacing and being ignorant of my surroundings. I let out a curse and part of my shirt started to smoke. I managed to put it out before it burst into flame, which would have been a very hard thing to explain to Mom.

Then when I was trying to take a shower several days later, the hot water ran out. I closed my eyes and growled in frustration, wishing for warmth. I must have directed my thoughts toward the bath towel hanging behind me, because it immediately caught fire. I yelped and grabbed it, throwing it under the shower spray. Luckily, that put it out. When Mom knocked and asked what was the matter, I had no problem telling the truth about the hot water. But the towel on fire was a different story.

That had been a few of the incidents. Granted, I had made several findings based on my accidents. My "abilities" seemed to be spawned out of my control when I got suddenly angry or emotional. Seriously, have you ever gotten into the shower after a long day or workout, and as you basked under the heavenly spray of hot water, the water suddenly became cold as hell? That would be enough to send anyone up the wall. Or when brooding...

I think I may have some sort of problem with that, the brooding thing. But how to fix that? Hell if I know...

However, I had noticed that when I deliberately used it, in several small experiments in my room, I seemed to have complete control over it. And it wasn't limited to pure fire either it seemed. When I was cold once, I willed myself to get warm. Slightly warmer. And to my surprise, admitting pleasant, I did. I pushed it a little further several times, and found that even when my window was open letting in the chilly night breeze, I was able to be nice and toasty standing buck naked in my room.

I'm glad I didn't have Mom or Chris walk in on that one. What am I doing you ask? Just standing here naked in my room with the window open to see if I could use my weird "mind fire" abilities to make myself warm. I'm sure the peeping toms would enjoy the show anyway. If there were any.

I kept going with the usual daily routine. Several times I caught myself wondering just how I was able to be so calm and collected about this. I had set a man of fire! Just how many times does that sort of thing happen? And I did it by willing him to burn. Just by wishing he would die in a fiery blaze from the inside out. I had directly killed someone in a terrible fashion.

But then I would tell myself that I couldn't dwell on it. If I started to dwell on it like I did with the death in the store, then I would drive myself mad, and possibly even try to die once again. And I have already experienced what happened when I tried that. I wasn't eager to try that again. I could quite possibly mess it up again. Or, something even weirder may happen, and I may get the ability to shoot laser beams out of my eyes and fly with super speed and strength!

Come to think of it, that seemed cooler and more useful then being able to set things, or people on fire for that matter. I would be trying not to burn everything down for example. And maybe I wouldn't be so skiddish around everything. Maybe...

Maybe it's time to stop thinking, I told myself. Instead, how about we just try to have as normal a day as possible. No fiery adventures for now. Just sit back and relax, watch some television, and maybe play a game or something. How's that?

I decided my brain had come up with a better idea and went with it. I spent the day with Chris and Mom, helping around the place and watching some television together. We had always been a tight family, and so hanging out with my Mom or Brother wasn't that awkward to me, even if others may have been of a different thought.

I decided I needed to find myself a job soon. Maybe something simple and easy. Something that would not be very noticeable. And something that did not involve me being around flammable objects. Gas and Propane related occupations would most certainly be detrimental to my welfare.

Later in the day, as the sun set, I decided to go for a walk. I really hadn't gone for one since the incident in the park. I needed to wait for the whole thing to die down. I remember seeing the report on the news about the girl being found, but that was only in relation to the fact that the remains of a man were found having been fried crispy to the bone nearby. I had sent her to find someone who could help her, and clearly, the first thing she did was go to the authorities. I knew that she could have easily compromised me, but she had denied that possibility.

"I won't tell anyone," she had told me in a soft voice. And she looked at me with different eyes then fear. She looked up at me with a small, grateful smile, surprisingly calm for someone that young who had been almost kidnapped and seen her captor burned alive. Then she ran off into the night, and though I knew I should probably make sure she was safe, my only thought was to get back home, tyo sort out my thoughts an feelings on what I just did.

I was amazed that the fact someone's burned body was found in the park didn't seem to faze many people here in New York City. I guess it really was just not weird enough, especially with all the stuff that had gone down for several years now, here and around the world. When you have a city floated in the sky by some weird robotic freak, you tend not to sweat the small stuff.

Still, I laid low, and didn't return for a while. Now I was itching to get back out. To escape the small apartment and stretch my legs in the open air. Now that I knew I could will myself to be warm, I didn't bother with much cold weather protection. Just a simple T-shirt with a windbreaker over it. After getting the clearence to leave from Mom, I departed.

The air was surprisingly pleasant, simply cool now without a freezing bite. Winter always was a hard time for me, who hated the cold for as long as I was able to hate. NYC was among the worst places to live in the winter, and I knew that one day, I imagined myself moving somewhere like the south, a Florida beach, kicking back and sipping margaritas all day.

But for now, I walked into the park, making my way to my favorite bench. Arriving there, I decided to sit down for a few minutes before making a lap around, and take in the air. It was always nice to be alone with my thoughts. I knew some people suppressed them. But being able to let the feelings be free was always more liberating to me.

It was a quiet, pleasant twilight. The sounds of the city at night drone on in the distance, but this was a quiet place, almost the closest thing I had to a sanctuary. I hoped to myself that I might someday have my own place where such a word as sanctuary could be used to describe. Somewhere away from the world, with it's evils and inhumanity. I took a deep breathe and closed my eyes for a moment, just listening.

I don't know how I didn't hear him coming. I had all my senses trained to detect the sounds of the night, but for whatever reason, the footsteps coming up from behind me, I didn't hear. Instead I heard a voice make a simple request.

"Mind if I sit here for a moment?"

I didn't open my eyes. Why the hell not? I don't know. But I guess the voice sounded pleasant, an older gentlemen if I had to guess. I nodded with my eyes still closed and scooted closer to the side, and felt a large form place itself next to me on the other side. I heard him breathing deeply.

"Nice weather we're having tonight. It was a little cold for my taste yesterday."

Small talk. I was alright with that.

"Yeah. I hate the cold," I said, about to open my eyes. They were feeling better now anyway.

"It's nights like this that I like to just sit down on some nice bench and think. About the future."

I finally opened my eyes and glanced at the man next to me. What I saw made my blood run cold, and my body freeze in shock.

It was him. The old man cashier from the store. Now that I wasn't suffering from shock and adrenaline, I could see he had bright blue eyes, a firm jaw surrounded by a white beard, and his hair was short and grey. I opened my mouth to speak, to say something, anything. I felt for sure as I now saw who was next to me that in the next second, several cops would rush me and take me to the ground.

He saw my reaction and just stared for a moment, as if he were trying to gauge what I would do. Clearly, he could see the thoughts going through my head and my eyes were darting around to see if I could detect anything nearby that might indicate some kind of trap or ambush. But eventually he just gave me a small smile.

"You don't need to worry. I'm alone."

"What are you doing here.." I whispered, still to surprised for louder words. Still shaken by his sudden appearance. His face was something I had almost forgotten about that night, when compared to the mother and little girl. He shrugged.

"As I said, I'm just here to sit down for a moment and take in the air. Is that still alright?"

My face, undoubtedly pale, nodded. What else was I going to do? We were in public and sitting on a public bench. A scene here would do no one good. And to be honest, he had me. Part of me honestly wanted to hear what he had to say, if he had anything to say at all. If he was goiing to scold me, so be it. I tried to die because of the shame of that night, so a scolding from an old man was something that I could take easily.

But he simply stared off into the night sky, the smile still on his face. It was very quiet, and slowly, I turned away from him to look up at the stars as well. I didn't try to dwell on the fact that the man who witnessed me in the store was sitting right beside me on a bench. All he would have to do is make a call to the cops if he hadn't already done so. Was he trying to stall me? I had to know.

"Did you already call them?" I asked. He turned to look at me with what I was sure was mock confusion.

"Call who?" he asked. Please don't try to play that game, I thought.

"The cops. Have you called them already? Or are you waiting to see what I do?"

"Now why would I call the cops?"

Seriously!? Why the hell wouldn't he? He saw me in the store that night. He even put his hand on my shoulder. So if he hadn't called them already, then what is his game here?

"Are you playing with me?" I asked, my voice starting to show annoyance. I wished he would get this over with, or maybe I should just start walking.

"I don't play games, young man. But I would like to know why on Earth you think I have called for the police."

"Because..." I started to say something, but my voice dropped out. I just couldn't finish the sentence, and the man seemed to know it. He chuckled.

"I have no need to call for the police. I don't need them at the moment, and hopefully, I never will."

I swallowed.

"But at the store..."

"That was the people you held up that were calling. I myself didn't even touch a phone."

I didn't have anything to say to that. He simply made a downward motion with his hand, toward the bench we were sitting on.

"Now just calm down. I assure you I have not contacted the authorities about you or your compatriots." He rested his hands in his lap. "You seem nervous. Most people that would be afraid of me, an old man calling the cops, aren't the kind of people that hold up stores in the night. Those people would have made sure I couldn't call anyone the moment I sat down next to them. So...why haven't you tried anything, young man?"

I didn't say anything. What could I say? But he didn't wait too much longer before continuing.

"I get the feeling that you aren't like those kinds of people. If the reaction you had to that poor woman being shot by your friend-"

"He is not my friend!" I hissed, seemingly by reaction. He took that in and nodded.

"So I see. If he is not your friend, then why were you with him when you robbed the store?"

This was so much, so quick. First, a man who I hoped I would never see again, him having seen my greatest mistake, had just come out of nowhere and put himself right next to me. Now he was questioning me about that night. I tried to come up with words, but something about this just gave me pause.

"Was it by need? Are you lacking of money?"

He was right on the mark...again. This time, instead of simply being silent, I nodded, slightly. He nodded in acknowledgment as well. Just what was this guy going with this?

"Tell you what. How about you meet me here again tomorrow night. Same time, right here. I may have a proposal for you."

"Proposal? Like what?" I asked, my voice obviously betraying my suspicion. He simply waved me off.

"Just be here if you're interested in finding out. I promise though, no tricks."

And with that, he got up and left without another word, never even seeming to contemplate turning around, never turning his face to see if I was following. I stared at him in shock. Proposal? Just what the hell was happening here?

I immediately contemplated my options. I could easily blow it off, but something about this whole thing just didn't make sense. He hadn't called the cops when he saw me here. He said he didn't have any need of them. And he correctly deduced somehow that I was robbing out of need of money for family, rather than for myself. What was it about him?

My mind was made up. Tomorrow evening I would meet here at the same time, and listen to what he had to say. Something about him just made me..want to hear him out. Not trust, but I needed to hear what he had to say.

-0-

The day went by uneventfully. Chris and Mom went to work as usual, and I waited in my room until the appointed time neared, and then set off for my spot in the park. Once again, the night was cool and calm, and I made good time to the rendezvous. Or so I thought.

He was sitting there already, staring off into the distance. I slowly made my way toward him, minding my feet to try to be as silent as possible. Apparently, I wasn't silent enough.

"You're late son," he said as I was almost within touching distance. I stopped n my tracks.

"But you said at the same time."

"And you're five minutes late. Punctuality will get you places."

He arose from the bench and stood to face me, his eyes regarding me with a thoughtful glint. He wore a large overcoat, his hands buried deep in the side pockets. He gestured toward the path that made a lap around the park.

"Why don;t we walk for a bit. Get some exercise while you listen." A strange request I thought, but it was his funeral. Figure of speech of course.

"Sure, whatever," I replied. We both began to walk the trail, and to my surprise, I found myself having to quicken my pace a little to keep up. This old man had a very brisk pace to his stride, and I decided to lighten the mood just a little.

"You sure do got a need for speed," I commented with a joking grin. He gave a small grin in return under his beard.

"Life is too short to trudge along at a snail's pace."

"You got somewhere you need to be?"

"No, but walking at the pace of a simple sheep is not my style." Simple sheep? Well that was a weird way to put it. We continued for another minute before he spoke once more.

"You weren't like those others. That night."

"What do you mean?"

"I could see it in your eyes, your actions. I could see the hesitation. You are not the kind of man that robs a place for something selfish. Clearly, you had to have that money for someone else. Do you live with family?"

I decided to humor him. He seemed to be honest so far.

"Yeah. My mother and twin brother." He chuckled.

"A twin brother eh? That has got to make for some interesting stories." I chuckled as well. Something about this man put me at ease, and I wasn't sure why.

"Yeah, it does. I always loved seeing people mistake us for the other. And to play along for a while." He laughed, and I actually found he had a deep, powerful laugh. And a very cheerful sounding one as well.

"Oh, the simple thrills of life. But anyway, I suppose you would like to hear my proposal?" he asked. I nodded, eager to get down to it. He cleared his throat.

"I take it you don't have a job?"

I shook my head. He nodded.

"I need someone to help me around the house. Just some basic cleaning and dusting, running the vacuum cleaner, taking out the garbage...you know. The usual."

I wondered why he would need help with these simple things, but I restrained my request for further information. I wanted to hear what else he had to say.

"And in return, I will pay you. What say you to a hundred dollars a cleaning? Just to come clean around when I have need of it? I won't have to have you there everyday, I assure you."

Seriously? This guy was offering a hundred dollars just for me to come and clean his place up? Hell, I didn't care if it was a garbage dump. I knew if I put forth the effort, I could have his place good to go, especially if I focused on the task and didn't get distracted!

But wait a minute. This sounded really good. Almost too good to be true, especially for me, who really didn't have much job experience. Was there a catch to all this?

"Why are you doing this?" I asked. He looked at me with an almost amused sense of shock.

"Doing what?"

"Giving me a job? When just weeks ago I was helping to hold your store up?"

"I've told you the reason. You clearly needed the money, and you were dreadfully out of place when you were doing the crime."

He stopped, and I stopped next to him. He looked me in the eyes for a moment.

"Mercy comes to those who show mercy to others," he said. I opened my mouth to reply, but stopped. The words seemed to have an effect on me. He reached out a hand from his jacket pocket, holding a card. On it was written down what was presumably a telephone number, along with an address. I took it without a word.

"Come to that address two days from now. I'll show you around and what will usually be expected of you."

I nodded. He gave me a small smile and nodded, and then began to walk away. I stood there for a moment before walking toward home. I hadn't gotten more then five steps when I heard his voice.

"And young man!" I turned to face him. He had a subtle smile on his face. "When you get there, simply knock on the door. And it shall be opened unto you."

I nodded. Whatever that means. I guess he just means knock on the door to mean that I'm here to clean your house. He waved and returned to his brisk walk away, and I slowly began to make my way home. It was then that I realized something important. I turned to call out to him.

"Hey mister, I didn't catch-"

He was already gone. But I hadn't turned my back long. I looked around for a moment, as I was sure he should still be in view. But he was gone from sight.

-0-

I decided to tell Mom and Chris that morning, after I had arisen from a rather nice sleep. Mom was making breakfast and Chris was already munching on some toast. I sat down and to help myself to some before I decided to break the news in a casual fashion.

"I got a job."

Mother stopped what she was doing and turned around in surprise. Chris stopped munching on his toast. I just kept on eating.

"Really? Where?" Mom asked. I decided to go ahead and bend the truth a little. I told them that there had been an ad for someone to go clean a house on a regular basis in the paper, and I had made the call, and was given the go ahead by the homeowner. She thought for a moment and then nodded.

"When do you start?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"Good. It's about time you stopped lingering around the apartment and got out there."

Maybe it was. I hadn't had much of an incident lately with my new fire ability. It had been a few days since I had accidentally set anything on fire or almost. Maybe I was really, genuinely starting to learn to control it, now that I knew, at least somewhat, the causes. I still had no idea what had happened to me that night that had obviously given me these new abilities, but to be honest, with each new day, I was starting to feel more comfortable with it.

A day and a half later, I left the house and made my way to the address listed on the paper. I knew of this neighborhood. It was of several blocks of houses, and I thought they were actually quite nice whenever I saw them. It would figure that the man who had given me this job would happen to live in such a place. And the home listed was soon before me.

It was decently sized, at least for New York City. It actually looked like a moderately sized family could live there in comfort. There was silence around except for the occasional barking of a dog as I walked on the driveway and onto the front porch. I was soon before the door when I remembered what he had said.

...Simply knock, and it shall be opened unto you...

And so I did, giving three distinct knocks to the door. And almost creepily right on the mark, the door swung open, and the man was standing behind it, a small smile on his face.

"Come in son. You came through. I knew you would."

Whatever that means, I thought as I stepped inside. It was nice and warm inside the house, and he told me to go ahead and take off my jacket. I hung it on the coat rack next to the door and followed him through the entryway into what appeared to be the living room. I was simple, with the Television in an entertainment center along with several speakers.

He walked me through the kitchen, pointing out the various surfaces to be cleaned and the garbage cans to be emptied when needed. He showed me the bathroom and a guest room that would need the occasional dusting. The utility room with it's washer and dryer. I noted that he seemed to live simply, though it was certainly a very cozy house.

As we passed another door, I asked what was behind it, as he walked right past it.

"That leads to the basement," he said. "I won't be needing you in there. I consider it my private sanctuary of sorts." I gave him a look.

"You're sanctuary is in the basement?" I asked. He raised an eyebrow.

"Anywhere can be made your private place my friend. And face it, the basement is as good a place as any."

That made sense. After showing me around, we ended up back in the living room, at the opening to the entryway with the front door. It seemed my little tour was at an end. However, there was something else that we never went, and I felt it wouldn't hurt to inqure a little. more.

"What about upstairs?"

"Up there is my bedroom. I have no need of you up there. I do not mean to sound harsh son, but I would prefer if you didn't wonder up there without permission."

I nodded. It was his house after all, and I was merely the employee. He walked me to the door.

"You can start tomorrow night if you would like. In the case that I am not here, I can give you a key, but don't worry about that for now. My job doesn't require my time as much as you might think."

He opened the door and I exited the building. But there was still one thing he had not told me, and I felt it important to know.

'Hey sir, if you don't mind me saying, I never did catch your name." He chuckled.

"Well my son, that's obvious. I never gave it. What's yours?" I hesitated for some strange reason before answering.

"Micheal."

He nodded and smiled. He reached out a hand and I took it. He gave it a firm shake.

"Good to meet you Micheal. You can call me Gabriel. Good night."

"Night..."

And with that he closed the door, and I turned back toward home. Despite his formality, he seemed like a decent man. Well, more than that. He saw me participate in a robbery, and instead of reporting me, offered me a job cleaning his own house. Why would he let someone like me in his own, personal house?

Maybe it was the same reason that he said he had no need of the police? I don't know what he meant by that, but it was already in my head that there was more to him then was meeting the eye. But for now, I suppose I should simply be grateful for the act of mercy, and made my mind that I would make that house the cleanest one in the whole goddamn neighborhood.

Yeah...I'll start there.

-0-

One week later, I was getting used to this.

For about four days now, I had showed up and tidied up the house. He indicated how he wanted something put together, and I did it, no questions asked, and the tasks assigned were always simple and never too too much time. Other than that I went around the house, where I was authorized, and emptied the waste bins, dusted, and occasionally mopped and swept the floors.

Gabriel never bothered me while I did this. I was amazed that he trusted a stranger to be alone in a room of his possessions, but I never did question him. This gig was just too good to pass up. A hundred dollars for a few hours of cleaning? I could do this all the time, and could probably make some nice money off it.

I suppose that may seem weird, but life seemed normal for a change. The only hiccup with my "fire abilities" was when I made several leaves in the park ignite, and I ran over and stomped them out before anyone could notice anything. His house though was always quiet and peaceful, and he always went upstairs as I worked, or sat in the living room reading, never bothering me as I worked around.

Thus, I never felt that I would lose control here, and the place sort of became an unintentional safe haven for me whenever I was there, in regards to losing control. Gabriel always had a kind word and a nice chuckle for me, and to be honest, I began to wonder if he had any children. He seemed old enough to be a sort of young grandfather. But again, I reeled in my curiosity and never asked such things.

After a week he told me that I would be allowed to clean the upstairs now, provided I did not enter his private room without his permission. Upstairs was the same things, with the bathroom and another guest room, besides his own. Sweep, empty, and organize as told, and it was no different then anything else.

One time however, I caught the door to his private room ajar, and I saw flickering lights as I passed by. Despite his warnings, I stopped and couldn't help myself, my curiosity peaked by the candles I saw burning. I took a step closer and peeked through the door crack, taking care not to accidentally budge it.

Inside it, I saw Gabriel in what looked like a meditative pose, with his legs drawn up and crossed. His eyes were closed and he was breathing slowly and deeply. His hands were on his knees. I watched for about a minute straight entranced at how calm and at ease he was. I was never one for the meditation thing, and it seemed like just a way to pretend to sleep in public. I continued my duties for the day.

After I had finished he was waiting as he always was in the entry way with my money, and he had a half-grin on his face.

"Now what did I say about my private rooms, Michael?" he asked, clearly already knowing the answer. I opened my mouth to say something, but I was already caught, and somehow he had known I was there. But he waved his hand at my surprise.

"Don't worry about it. It really is very useful by the way, meditation. Have you ever tried it?" I shook me head. "Next time you come by, I can show you how it's done for real."

To be honest, despite my past disinterest, his offer really was tempting. In fact, I found I wanted to do it because he offered to show me. What was it about this man that made me want to accept his help, and learn this from him? Was it just an aura he gave off?

Regardless, I accepted his invitation, and went home for the evening.

-0-

The next night, several days later, I finished my required duties and knocked on his door to signal I was done. He opened the door and beckoned me inside. The candles were lit and the lights were out. I had a brief feeling of "strange old man about to try to pull something on an unsuspecting young cleaner boy" but I quickly shut that down. This man had proven to be anything but honest.

I stepped inside and he closed the door. This was the first real look I had at his room, and to be honest, it was sort of as expected, except for one small detail. Several pictures were mounted on his walls, which seemed to show him in a various fighting rings. And on a poster I saw his name on one of those posters you see plastered to promote a fighting event. I didn't really care for who he was facing.

"Were you a fighter?" I asked. He turned and saw his poster and chuckled, nodding.

"I was, for a time. A very long time." My curiosity was peaked.

"How good were you?" I asked. He gave me a look.

"I don't talk about it much. But I suppose I was decent enough. But let's not talk about that. Sit here," he said, pointing on a rug laid out. I obediently did so and he sat in front of me, crossing his legs. He explained the pose to me and then told me to close my eyes. I obeyed and he directed me to begin breathing deeply, and slowly, focusing on each breathe.

"Imagine yourself being free. Let the air rejuvenate you. Imagine your energy at you center slowly expanding and filling every part of your body. All wounds healing. All stress gone. It is just you and your thoughts, unchained by the world."

I obeyed. He told me to focus on this for five minutes, and nothing else. I did so, and surely, there was an effect. My body began to feel totally relaxed, and all pain was fading. I continued to focus on it until I felt...peace. And then the memory hit me, hit me like a freight train.

A gunshot. A scream. A little girl's eyes staring at me in terrible fear, a monster with my face.

I actually grunted in pain and shock, the memory hitting me so suddenly and violently. My eyes snapped open and I blinked several times before my vision refocused. Gabriel looked at me with concern, and he reached over, placing his hand on my shoulder.

"Are you alright Michael?" he asked. I shakily nodded.

"I had a flashback. You didn't tell me that would happen..."

"Well, I do admit that it can happen. Meditation can also be used to remember things we may have forgotten and need to remember. And unfortunately, we can occasionally remember things we didn't wish to remember as well." Then he withdrew his hand. "What did you remember?"

I told him. The girl in the store. How I still saw her eyes when she looked at me. And I told her that her eyes looked at me as though I were a monster. He turned his head at the choice of words.

"A monster you say?" I nodded. "Do you feel like a monster?"

"I helped him. I was with them. I am a part of the reason that girl's mother died. And her baby as well." I told him, my voice shaking. He gave me a small, almost fatherly smile.

"Michael, do you feel remorse for what happened?" I nodded slowly. I felt as though I could trust him. "And do you know what a monster does not feel?" I shook my head, part of which because I wanted him to continue.

"Remorse. Monsters, my son, do not feel remorse for their actions. They don't care one way or another how they have hurt others. And that is what makes them monsters. We fear what lurks beneath our beds or our closets. But there are those among us Michael, that are true monsters. Because they do not care."

He placed his hand again on my shoulder. I looked into his eyes, and found them full of warmth, or compassion.

"And you Michael, do feel remorse. And because you feel remorse, that is how you cannot be a monster. Because a monster feels no such thing as remorse, and you do. That is the line that separates us from them. Remorse, compassion, and mercy."

I nodded, but something in me arose. I had no explanation for it, but I felt something burning in me again. And so I asked.

"Can you show me some things?" He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of things?" he asked.

"To fight. You said you were a fighter, and I know you just said you don't like to talk about it. But do you think after I am done cleaning, that you can show me-" he cut me off right there, rising to his feet faster than I thought he could, and catching me off guard.

"Come with me..." he said. I hastily got up and followed him downstairs and to the basement door. He opened it and turned to me with a slight grin on his face.

"Never did think I would need this stuff again. Are you serious?" he asked. I nodded and he began to walk down the stairs, me following him. He hit a switch at the bottom and the basement came to life.

Around the place, as usual were storage containers and shelves. But in the center was several old punching bags stacked up, and against one corner I could see several large mats, similar to what one would find in a gym. A human sized dummy, clearly meant to teach stuff like pressure points and strikes, was in another corner. I turned to him with wide eyes. He chuckled and stepped into the room's corner, with the human shaped dummy

He walked over and gazed at the dummy with a neutral expression. I wondered what he was trying to do when he hand, which had been sitting at his side, struck out, almost faster then my eyes could register. He did what I though might have been a karate-chop to the neck of the dummy, but again, it was just so fast. I was amazed that this man could move that quickly. The dummy swung on it's stand for a moment before righting itself. He turned to me with a grin.

"It would seem...that I still got it."

He then turned to me, still standing at the foot of the stairs, clearly looking shocked at his feat. He narrowed his gaze.

"Why did you ask me to teach you to fight?"

"I...I..." I struggled to find the words to explain. It was as if something in me needed it. Some part of me snapped when the memory of that girl came through, and I needed to learn this. For what? Not even I knew at this point. But I suppose I needed to hit something. Hitting things were therapeutic, or so they say. And I if I were to hit something, why not learn how to do it right?

"Does it have anything to do with the memory you experienced during your meditation?" he asked. I quickly nodded, and clearly, I did it too quickly because he narrowed his eyes at me. "Are you lying to me right now?" he asked in a low voice. And then I nodded again. Dammit! I need to work on that...

He sighed. "Michael, I can understand. You think you need an outlet, and maybe you do. But are you sure this is the one you want? If you want to learn to fight, I certainly can show you the basics, maybe some more. But I can promise that if you want to learn for real, it's going to be painful. I would be doing you a disservice otherwise. Are you still sure?"

"Yes," I replied, my voice sounding soft and hoarse. He looked away for a moment and then nodded. "Very well then. I will help you learn to fight. And I would also recommend you practice the meditation technique I showed you. It can help clear your mind, and it really helps you get through the day."

I nodded. He motioned for me to leave the basement and we traveled back to the surface. Upon reaching the door, he handed me the money and looked into my eyes.

"Just promise me you won't be looking for trouble, will you?" he asked. I grinned.

"Not at all. Why would you think that?"

He smiled and closed the door behind me with a "goodnight". I made my way home, my mind going over what I had just asked and been granted.

As I lay on my bed, I thought again of the memory of that girl, the mother. And of the other little girl I saved. And then I saw their faces, of Santos and the others, of that man I burned alive, and I grit my teeth. I had made a promise, that was true. But people like that needed to be dealt with. And now I had the power to do so.

I had made my choice...

 **As always, leave a little review and give me your honest thoughts.**


	5. Learning The Hard Way

Chapter 5: Learning The Hard Way

Learning can be painful process. The ups and downs and turn around twist your head sideways to sideways, and just when you think you have something figured out and are on a roll, something new comes along and messes with your rhythm. It is a long process of trial and error, even with instruction. And many times, especially when it came to such things as learning to fight, and by that I mean real fighting; it can come with its fair share of bumps and bruises. And by god, was I learning this the hard way.

I had tried to hit this man for how long now? I had lost count. Every time, he had dodged, evaded, redirected, or simply blocked every blow. I tried to kick him several times, only for him to call it clumsy after grabbing my leg and twisting me in the air, which inevitable landed me right on my ass. I wondered if he was going to break me in slowly, teaching the simple things first, but instead of breaking me in, he was just outright breaking me in general.

I grit my teeth after my last failure. It was true that he had showed me some basic punches but then he had told me to come at him, and try to land one. This man had to be around sixty at the very least, and yet my young ass was getting the beating of it's life. Actually the wording of that may cause a chuckle in him, and give me an opening. Maybe I should make a joke of that and-

Slam!

"Pay attention Michael!" he half growled, half yelled. In the mere second I had gotten lost in my thoughts he had lurched forward and delivered a solid blow to my forehead, and even though I was positive he was holding back, I felt the impact like a thrown brick. I held in a yelp and staggered back, clutching my forehead. It was then that he advanced again, and with a sweep of his feet, kicked my legs out from under me, causing me to once again land on my now bruised ass.

It was taking a pounding alright. I looked up at him, my eyes revealing annoyance.

"Why won't you take it easy? I'm still trying to figure this out."

"If you stop to try to figure something out in a real fight, you die," he said. "You have to train yourself to act on instinct and muscle memory. Let the other poor bastard try to figure things out. Let him try while you're beating the snot out of him. Much like I have been doing to you for the last half-hour."

True, we had been going at it for around that time. Thirty minutes of being beaten by grandpa. This is just as I had imagined my night going. We had started with a brief meditation, to clear our minds, he said. Then he had taken me to the basement, showed me how to jab, and then told him to try to hit him. And I had been failing on an epic scale ever since.

I got up and brushed the dust off. He stood there with his hand clenched behind his back, his gaze neutral, stone cold.

"You've only showed me one thing. How to straight punch. So why are we suddenly sparring?"

"I've taught you everything you need to land a blow on me. I'm an old man, Michael, at least in your eyes. But clearly, I don't move like one at all, now do I? But you're young and fresh. So continue to try and hit me, unless you have decided to give up. Have you?" he asked.

At this point I knew I was outmatched, completely and utterly. And so I nodded. He nodded his acknowledgment.

"Good. Only an idiot doesn't quit when he is clearly defeated. Remember that discretion is the better part of valor Jason."

I nodded. He gestured toward the basement stairs. I noticed that although I was breathing hard, he seemed hardly winded at all. Not even sweating.

"Tomorrow, I'll show you some more. That's how we'll go through it. A little more each day, and have you practice what you have learned. I'll teach the more advanced moves afterward, and then I want you to do something." I raised an eyebrow at his request. He grinned at me.

"I want you to try and fight me again. And if you win, let's just say you have passed the test."

A test? What did he mean "passed"? Was this really some kind of test?

"What kind of test?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Guess you'll have to beat me to find out. Let's call it a night for now. Come by tomorrow. There will be no cleaning needed and we can get right to it."

And so I did. And the next night. And the next.

His instruction was simple. He'd help me meditate, which I admit was actually very relaxing and cleared my head. Then he'd make me go through drills with the moves I already knew, like a basic jab and eventually uppercuts and the left/right hook. Then after the drills were done, he would show me something else, like how to block an incoming attack, or techniques to evade them altogether. His instruction was also very gradual, never going beyond one new move a session, or even several.

"To master something, you must practice it constantly," he said. "Once you can master a move, only then can you move forward to learn the next."

Curiosity got the better of me. I found that despite all that I was learning, it still wasn't much. Sure it was a lot more than I knew earlier, but still, the act of progress was starting to eat at me. I guess I was expecting to be doing high kicks and roundhouses right off the bat.

"The journey of ten thousand miles begins with a single step," he answered me when I finally admitted my frustration. "You have my word that the fancy stuff is coming, but don't believe everything you see in the movies or TV. Often, the simple straight punch or low kick can solve problems a lot faster than trying to be fancy or cute with it."

We began with kicks after that. The basics first. He warned me that getting a kick wrong could result in a lot of pain for myself, as any good opponent will take a misplaced or blocked kick and do some very nasty damage in return. And I still practiced punches and meditation beforehand as well. He also began to gradually demonstrate how to block and evade blows, and to use an opening left by such a move to counterattack. There were also ways to throw an opponent off balance and trip them up, leaving them gasping for air on the ground, with your knee on their throat.

I was shocked at how much I had been learning that I forgot how long I had been training with him. I also wasn't sure how much of this would come to be useful if I ever decided to go vigilante. That was the normal means of progression right? You get powers; you either become a hero or a villain. There just didn't seem to be any middle ground when it came to that. No matter what you wanted, it always came down to being a hero or villain. Maybe it was part of the deal.

I kept going, following his instructions to the best of my ability. I also made sure to try and keep out of trouble as well. Both Mom and Chris were pleased at my efforts, despite not knowing about my "side" learning that I had been doing. They just assumed I was going out every night and cleaning houses and bringing money home every night. They didn't ask questions and I was quite content with their silence.

He also started me on a physical conditioning program. He claimed that it was for helping to build strength and stamina. "A fight can come down to whoever is the most conditioned, or the most willpower. If you have two fighters with equal skill, then their conditioning is often what it will come down to. That and willpower," he explained. And so he had me running instead of walking to his house, a distance of several miles, and he always seemed to know if I had been walking instead. And when my lessons were finished, he had me run back, a distance of several miles more. I made sure to catch my breath before entering the apartment, to try and keep Mom and Chris off. I still wasn't sure what their reaction would be to the skills I was learning.

Still, he hadn't shown me anything fatal yet. Of course he had lectured me about restraint, and how the moves he was showing me could kill if I did it hard enough, but he always taught restraint. There were no weapons in the basement, and I always assumed he had been a fighter of martial arts rather than anything like a soldier or otherwise. And so far, nothing that looked like it would kill a person without direct, meaningful application to do so have been shown to me.

"Learning to fight is like any other kind of learning," he told me one night in the basement as I punched my way into the dummy. "It is a progressive science, and only obtainable through increasing degrees of learning. Right now you are simply training your body to learn the moves. This is basic muscle memory," he explained.

"When do we fight again?" I asked, curious to know when he would stand me up and wail on me again. He only chuckled.

"I was holding back quite a bit the first time Michael, and I still wiped the floor with you. Keep listening to what I have to teach and you'll be ready for round 2." His face turned serious for a moment, and I felt a slight bit of tension in the air. "But do know that next time, I won't be holding back."

And so the instruction continued. After several weeks, he decreed that I had learned the basic punching maneuvers to a degree he was satisfied with, and told me that I could always shadow box in my room at my apartment, to continue work on technique, reminding me again that constant practice makes perfection. He would now introduce me to kicks. And the learning began anew.

Over the next few weeks, we went through the basics of kicking moves. He advised me that things like a high kick should be reserved for when I was well practiced, since such a maneuver could be done sloppily by an inexperienced fighter, and leaves you vulnerable to a rather viscous counter attack. Especially to the groin area he said, with a slight grimace, as if remembering something painful. His instruction was for the time being to keep all my blows regional, punching to the upper body's vitals, and keeping my kicks low and to the lower body, the gut or below, depending on the move.

Soon, the dummy I had been pounding away with my fists was getting the shit kicked out of it, almost literally. The low kick to the knee area. A straight kick to the gut. All viable moves to use. And I continued my punching practice, both on the dummy and at my apartment, making sure everyone was asleep as not to wake them with my grunts and breathes. That was something else he had taught me, to blow out the air as I punched, almost making that weird sound one hears in kung fu movies. I had always thought martial artist were weird as hell when they made that sound. But as he explained it, breathing out forcefully when punching adds to the power, and in my practice, I realized that personally.

One day he came in as I was training, and told me to put the dummy back in the corner. I did so and looked at him quizzically. "Is this the 'test' coming up?" I asked. He shook his head.

"I've decided to let you go ahead and practice with me now. I know I said we would spar for real in the future, but for now, just show me if you have taken to heart what you have learned. Just go smooth and easy for now, and I'll stop you if I think you are doing it wrong."

And so I did. I kept my blows slower than usual and he blocked and weaved around them, telling me to watch him as he did, as these were the same maneuvers to block and dodge blows that he would be showing me. I made sure to make note of what he did as we ran through each attack he had taught me, from the good old fashion straight punch to straight kicks to his midsection.

And then he had me assume the stance and attacked me with the slightly slower speed that I used against him. My blocks and dodges were admittingly clumsy, but he continued to give clear instruction and encouragement, and eventually, I was blocking and diverting his attacks much better before the end of our time.

He sent me home with the promise that we would be learning how to do things like kicks to the upper region, and honing my abilities to block, hold, and redirect incoming strikes. I found myself looking forward to my time with him more and more with each passing night.

-0-

I don't remember how long exactly I had been training with him. Maybe training wasn't the right word. Practice was more like it. What exactly would I be "training" for any way? I wasn't intending to enter any martial arts competitions. I did wonder what sort of style he had been teaching me, but I had just assumed so far it was a combination of sorts, MMA style most likely.

But each day, I felt more different. It wasn't just my fire abilities anymore. I genuinely was beginning to feel different from everyone. The more and more I learned, the more intense this sensation became. As if learning things that the majority of the population never would somehow set me apart from them. Just like my abilities with fire now.

I still wondered about that guy I burned up from the inside, and the little girl that had thanked me for saving her. I had expected her to run in terror as soon as the deed was done, but she had hugged me and buried her face in my stomach. And it felt good. I felt genuinely good for having saved her. Should I have felt bad or different for burning the guy alive? Maybe, but even now, I still didn't dwell on it. Maybe it was for the best.

As he had promised, we were now going through the best ways to block, or divert an incoming blow. He told me that there were many times it was best to try to avoid contact at all, as blocking a powerful blow could leave you more hurt than your opponent. He made me swing at him as we had done earlier, and he showed me the various dodges blocks to each strike.

He then had me repeat the same movements to him, as he swung at me. He warned me that this time, he would be genuinely trying to hit me, and so I would have to do the movement perfectly, or else take a nasty hit. And I took more than a few before I managed to perfect a movement, at least in his eyes. Then we would go on to the next, and the next, until I had finally gone through all that he knew to teach. This went on for at least another month, along with my continuing practice with punches, throws, and now throws.

The day night before we would begin practicing throws and pins, I walked into his open room, already finding him in meditation. I sat before him and assumed the stance he had taught me, but this time I had decided to finally ask the question that had been in my mind for some time. Just where had he learned this himself?

"Where did you learn this?"

"Pardon me?" he asked, opening one eye and glancing at me.

"All these moves you're teaching me. Someone had to have taught you." He chuckled.

"I had a rather long career, both doing this and teaching this."

"But where?" I asked, finally seeing an opening to get my answer. He let out a breathe and opened his eyes.

"Ever heard of the Strategic Homeland Intervention and Logistics Division?" I stared at him for a moment.

"That's gotta be an interesting way to introduce yourselves. A mouthful," I muttered. He chuckled again.

"Just call it SHIELD. That was the official name."

Holy shit...

"You learned this in SHIELD?" I asked. He nodded.

"I was in the organization for quite some time. Actually, you could say I was in for most of my life. I learned some of this when I first joined, picked up more as I went along, and then spent around a good fifteen years teaching it to the new recruits we would get."

"How long were you in it?" I asked. He smiled.

"Damn near forty years. I remember everyone wanting me to retire and take it easy. Said that it was a young man's game. But to be honest, it was my life. Just sitting around retired wasn't something I wanted to do then, and it doesn't sit right with me now. It's something that defines me, makes me what I am. I think the director knew it and never ordered me to finally call it a career and go vacation somewhere. Besides, I apparently was doing a good job with the recruits before the end came." With that, his eyes glazed over and I could tell he must have been remembering the whole fall of SHIELD, and whatever may have happened behind the scenes as the world watched those big helicarrier things fall down.

I decided to lighten the mood a little. "So, when are you going to show me some of those pins and restraints you were talking about?" I asked. He looked at me without the slightest change of expression.

"Right now," he said. And before I knew it, he was lunging for me, going from his seated position to right in my face before I knew what was happening, and I was crushed under his weight, with my muscles useless.

Goddammit. Just had to ask...

-0-

A month later, he had deemed my pinning moves to be sufficient in his eyes. He often had me try and pin him down with the move he had just taught me, and then the next thing I knew I would be flipped around and on my back, with him above me, followed by his explanation of what I did wrong, or what move he used to break the hold.

It was one day when we were going through a basic sparring session, not like an actual fight, when he raised a hand and stopped me. I paused my attacks and let him breathe for a moment. He was an older man after all and I would give him all the time in the world to recover if he needed. I owed him that much. But what he did next gave me pause.

He was slightly clutching at his chest, his eyes tight and he was still breathing in deep gulps of air. I watched for another moment before cautiously asking.

"Hey...are you alright? You look like you're hurting," I asked. He took another deep breath and finally opened his eyes, giving me a nod.

"I'm alright. Just needed a slight break. I'm not a young man you know." I grinned at that, resuming my stance.

"Yeah, that's pretty obvious," I said with a slightly sarcastic tone. His mouth broke into a grin.

"Why you little..." he said in a tone an old man might use to tell the kids to get off his lawn, and he threw several playful punches my way, which I blocked with a laugh as well.

We went on for another few minutes before he called it a night, and I turned to leave the basement. I thought for a moment that I saw him rub his chest and grit his teeth for a moment, but I decided not to pry.

-0-

We were sitting in his bedroom, doing our usual meditation, when for some reason, the memory of the store hit me. The little girl's eyes, filled with fear, her cries for her mother who would never awaken, and the fact that there was now a little life snuffed out before it had even had time to grow, and I had had a hand in it. I must have made some sort of verbal reaction, because I felt a hand on my shoulder, and opened my eyes to see my mentor leaning toward me, his expression one of concern.

"Are you alright Michael?" he asked. I nodded.

"Just a memory sprouting up, one I would like to forget about." he leaned back and nodded.

"Meditation, as helpful as it can be, does sometimes bring out memories we would like to forget. We can't really control it, because it helps us remember things in general. And occasionally, we remember those things we would rather bury deep down, and never think of again." He was silent for a moment. "What memory was haunting you?"

I swallowed. He was there when it happened. What if I say the wrong thing? I had had something great here for months now. I didn't want to ruin it with the wrong words. And as if he could read my thoughts, he gave me a gesture.

"Speak son. I won't hold judgement."

"That night in the store. That girl's mother dying..."

He let out a slight hiss and nodded.

"Yes, I know. And you feel guilty about it still, don't you?"

"Yeah. And no matter how much I try, I can't shake it."

"You won't be able to Michael. There are things we can never forget, and so we must learn to live with them. You feel guilt over your actions. And you should, because that was wrong for you and your friends to do that. But let me tell you something. That feeling you get...guilt...it shows you are not a monster. That you have remorse. And let me tell you something else."

He leaned closer to me, looking me dead in the eyes.

"Something I have learned over the years is that there is no mistake, nothing so bad you can do, that you cannot redeem yourself. We are imperfect humans. And so we are going to make mistakes. We will stumble. And we will occasionally stumble horribly. But the power to get back up is within us all, and I have come to believe, especially after seeing that we are not alone in the universe, that all things can be redeemed. Do you try and not make a mistake? Absolutely. But you will. And if you wish it, you can come back from it, stronger than before."

He leaned back and gave me a small smile, one that showed wisdom of his years.

"And it all starts with realizing we were wrong. Accepting it. And making a choice never to do it again."

I nodded once more, his words slowly sinking in. He blew out the candles and arose to his feet.

"Now, what say we work out those emotions with a little activity as well?" he said. I grinned in anticipation. And so the night went on as usual, with me working on the various moves and techniques and him critiquing and occasionally doing some rounds with the bag himself.

That night, as I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, his words haunted my thoughts. A choice. Redemption. Was it actually possible? Was maybe my suicide attempt, something I had tried to do to avoid shaming my family and to possibly redeem myself for what I helped do, rejected for some reason? Was there something else fate had in store for me?

For the first time in a while...I did something along the lines of a prayer...

The next morning, I was toasting some bread when my mother walked into the kitchen, seemingly pleased to see me already up and moving. She walked up to my side as I was focused on the toasting, and tapped my shoulder to get my attention.

"Mornin' Mom," I said. She smiled.

"Good morning to you too Michael. You seem happy this morning. Something up?" I looked at her in some confusion, wondering what she meant.

"What'd you mean?" I asked. She shrugged.

"You just seem really happy this morning. Actually, you've been seemingly different for several months now."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'm curious Michael. Really genuinely curious. What is it?"

"What is what?" I asked. She tilted her head at me.

"What is it that's changing you? You've been acting different for months. Both Me your Brother have both noticed it. You aren't brooding much. You aren't as jumpy, or nervous as you were some time ago. So please tell us, what changed?"

I wondered what I could tell them. Would they approve of me training in the fighting with the man who was paying me to clean his house? I had no idea how that would go with them. Ever since my Father had died, Mom had been as protective as one could expect her to be with her life. Most mothers in her straits would have been different, but she took pains to try and keep our world as bright as she could.

She was a Mother, pure and simple. And I hated lying to her. But at this time, I just didn't know. I didn't know how she would act. And so I lied to her with a smile on my face. Hopefully the smile was convincing.

"I guess life just feels better now. Maybe the extra money is changing my mood."

She nodded. Chris chose that moment to appear in the kitchen, shirtless and eating a piece of bread. He paused when he saw me.

"What was with those sounds last night?" he asked. I looked at him in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Those weird sounds coming from your room last night. I would have knocked and asked but I didn't want to intrude. I didn't think you were smuggling some girl inside and doin' the nasty but it really was weird. So what's going on?"

"That's what I would like to know," mumbled Mom. I swallowed hard, my mind racing to come up with an excuse when one popped right into my head. Genius!

"I was exercising."

"Exercising?" Chris asked his expression one of disbelief. I nodded.

"Yeah, exercising. The classics ya' know. Pushups, sit-ups, squats, all that who-ha-jazz."

It wasn't entirely untrue actually, not by a long shot. I was doing these calisthenics in addition to my runs to and from Gabriel's home. A little something extra to supplement my efficiency, in his own words. But I had been focusing on perfecting technique while I was inside my room last night, the blinds closed. And maybe I was into it just a little too much last night, and Chris noticed on the way to the bathroom or something.

But they both seemed to buy the excuse and didn't question me on it anymore. And life continued for some time again, with me learning and training, and I was finding myself enjoying life again. The nightmares were finally beginning to subside.

I was in my meditation when I heard him arise. I opened my eyes to see him walking toward the door, and as I straightened up to follow, he turned and beckoned me to stay down. I looked at him for a moment but obeyed, closing my eyes and returning to my meditation as I heard him leave the room. I sat in silence for a few more minutes before I felt something whip by me, and opened my eyes to see the quick flash of what looked like a knife fly through the air about an inch from my face.

"Gah!"

I threw myself up. The knife embedded itself in the wall with hardly a sound, though on inspection it looked as though it was buried up to the hilt. I glanced at the blade in shock for a moment, and then turned to find Gabriel standing in his doorway, his arm extended in the finishing pose of a throwing motion.

"Jesus man! What the hell!?" I yelled. He looked at me for a moment and then chuckled. Seriously chuckled, just seconds after throwing a knife so close it could have taken skin off my nose. And doing it perfectly, as far as I could tell. Was it worth the money?

"I still got it," he said happily, seeming to talk to himself. I stared in disbelief for a moment, trying to process the fact that this man was bragging to himself that he had deliberately scared the shit out of me with a thrown knife.

"And just what would have happened if you didn't have it?" I asked. He stopped laughing and gave me a serious look.

"It would have hurt. A lot." With that, he strode forward past me and reached out, taking the knife by the handle. With yet again virtual silence, he pulled the knife out. I could see it was indeed one of those small knives you see thrown in movies and TV. Only this one was real life, and a little too close for comfort. He turned to me, and flipped the knife in the air, where it flipped a few times before being caught by the handle, as if he were showing off.

"Now, today's lesson is...you just found out."

"Try to kill me with a knife?"

"Come now Michael. If I was throwing that to kill you, we both know it would have been in your neck, instead of the wall. Now, are you ready to learn something that the vast majority of mankind will never even think of doing, or not?"

Well, he had my attention now. I followed him down to the basement, where I found he had actually set up a bull's eye target on the far wall. On a table at the other end, I saw a collection of the same type of knife that had tried to skin my nose. He motioned me to the table. I made my way over and he explained the various blades, their weight and what he liked most about them. Finally, he told me to try to throw one.

"I don't know how," I told him. He gave me a look.

"Well, then try. You saw me do it. Try and imitate me," he said. Well, if he insisted then so be it. I walked to the wall, turned and faced the target, and threw it at the target with what I could remember observing from him. And just as I thought would happen, the blade didn't even stick. It just clanged against the target and bounced right off with a clatter on the ground. He made a noise and took a knife from the table, standing next to me.

"Alright, that was a disaster. Now, watch and learn my young Pup."

And he pitched his arm back and threw the knife as before, with lightning fast speed. And with lightning precision, the blade sliced into the bull's eye right next to its fellow blade. He looked at me and gestured me to take another one. I did so and he ordered me to stand next to him and raise it like I did.

"Well, there's the problem," he said, almost to himself. And he assessed my stance and grip. Instead of just gripping it like I was going to stab with it, he had me place my index, middle, and the ring fingers on the side, rather than wrapped around, with my thumb on the opposite side, directly from the other fingers. Then to face the target with my weak side, in my case with my left shoulder since I was right handed.

Then he told me to make sure the knife was horizontal to the target the entire time. And when the actual throw was made, to simply release the knife. It would do its thing, as long as I followed the steps he said in addition to throwing it as hard as I could, to make sure it really stuck in its target.

And so I did. I followed the steps he taught as well as I could for a first time throwing, and surer enough, the knife struck the target. The difference is that this time the knife stuck itself in good and deep, though I was about six inches from the bull's-eye. I looked at the target in surprise for a moment, seeing for myself what just a little instruction could do. Gabriel chuckled.

"Nice throw. Now you just need to practice and the technique will be ingrained into you. And the accuracy will develop with practice. So..." he reached onto the table and picked up a second knife, handing it to me. "Have at it..."

I spent the rest of the night learning and practicing knife throwing. Why I was being made to learn this I didn't know for sure, but I found myself enjoying this, the more and more I did it. And the next night and the next, until I was throwing knives into the bull's-eye from as far away as the spacious basement would allow. And I continued to work on the martial arts taught me in my room at night, only this time I was damn sure to confirm that Mom and Chris were asleep and I toned my breathing down when doing so.

-0-

"Damn it!"

The jolt of pain I felt from the whack of the staff was small compared to the frustration I was feeling at not being able to sense the man. Standing in the middle of the room, hoodwinked, with Gabriel moving around me with a staff, or maybe it was a stick, and whacking me with it if I picked the wrong direction or location was frustrating the hell out of me. It seemed to be the only thing in the last months that I just wasn't able to get the hang of.

Some days ago, Gabriel had taken me down the basement as usual, and this time had me stand in the middle of the room. I obeyed and asked what we were about to do. He grinned and handed me a fold of cloth. I took it and looked at him in confusion. He gestured to me.

"Well? What are you waiting for son? Put it over your eyes."

Wait...what?

"Are you about to try something weird on me?" I asked. He gave me a look.

"I'm going to teach you to use your other senses. Sometimes you may need to use more than just your eyes to find me. Say you're somewhere dark and someone is trying to kill you. Turning on a light would instantly reveal your location, and that could get nasty for you really damn quick. But if you can move around with your other senses, and leave him helpless in the dark, the advantage is all you. So yes, out the blindfold on boy, and let's see if you can tell where I am."

And so I did. And just to add to the little experiment, he killed the lights, leaving me not only covered with a blindfold, but stumbling around in the dark. This just kept getting better and better. I strained to hear anything, but all I could detect was silence. Maybe he hadn't moved or-

"Where am I Michael?" I heard him whisper, and I found his tone to be actually rather frightening, especially in a dark basement with a blindfold on. I swallowed and took a guess.

"You're to my right."

Whack!

OW! What the hell was that? Just what in the hell was he hitting me with? A sharp stick?. I grunted in pain and raised my arms in a questioning gesture.

"If you guess wrong in an actual situation Michael, you die. So these love taps are just a little reminder to try and clear your mind a little better before trying again. Now..."

I could tell he had moved. I knew that much. But his footsteps were so damn quite, as though he had had years of practice moving silently. And that was most likely very true, considering his skill set. And so that is why I was finding myself straining to hear him move. But goddamn, he was a quite son of a bitch. I turned my head, swearing to myself that I had heard the faintest ruffle to my right.

"Where am I?" the same menacing whisper asked.

"To my right," I answered. And sure enough, I felt the slap of the stick, or whatever he was using, on my left arm. This was starting to get annoying. But I refused to quit, not after learning so much. I had to at least try to get the basics of this.

Whack!

"You didn't even ask me where you were that time!" I complained, feeling the sting of the attack which I felt to be unfair. He growled in annoyance. I heard that much.

"And an attacker in the dark is going to ask you where he is? Focus Michael. Clear your mind. Focus all your senses on finding my location. And remember one important fact in the instruction I gave you..."

"Which is?"

"That I never said you couldn't move around yourself. I'm in the dark too after all..."

"How are you hitting me with the thingy you're using then?"

"Because you're not bothering to move, that's why. Now, maybe you should try moving around and see if you could possibly throw me off."

"But I can't see where I'm going..." He growled again, clearly annoyed by that comment.

"Michael, that's the point. You don't have your sight to rely on, so use your other senses. Feel around the room. Listen for my footsteps, my breathing. Go slowly and carefully, and you'll be fine. Now do it!"

I took a deep breath and began to move around. I was obviously disoriented at first, as losing your sight seemed to have that effect on you. But at first I kept my steps small and my hands raised slightly before my body, making sure that if I ran into anything, my hands would feel it before anything, and I would be able to stop myself before I knocked something over. That would, after all, give my location away in an instant.

I felt my hand brush against something and I gently felt around it, really carefully as to not disturb the object. I realized it was the training dummy, pushed against the wall to make room for our little test. And then I had an idea.

I gripped the dummy around what I felt to be the shoulder, and then gave it a shove, letting it bounce against the wall. The noise wasn't as loud as one may think, but it was certainly loud in the dark quiet confines of the basement. I heard Gabriel click his tongue in disproval.

"I do believe that you were told to be careful, Michael. Now I know exactly where you are."

Or did he? The moment I shoved the dummy back, I maneuvered my way to my right, feeling against what I found to be the wall with one hand, and having my other at a slight angle before me to feel for obstructions. I heard something whack the dummy, and several moments later I felt a sound of what may have been a noise of amusement from Gabriel.

"Well, that's new. Seems like the game truly is afoot now..."

Yes, I thought. The game is on.

I kept moving as slowly as I could, without making sure I was in one spot too long. Around me I was feeling, very carefully as to not knock anything I didn't want knocked over, or to ruffle something that I didn't want to make a sound. And I listened for even the slightest sound, a footstep or his breathing. If I could just locate him and grab him, as he had stated would count as a "win", then this whole ritual could be over.

I stopped moving and listened, forcing myself to stop breathing for a few seconds. And that is when I heard it. The oh so gentle step of a foot on the ground just a little ways behind me, no less than a few feet. And I acted on it, whirling around and thrusting my arms out in a grabbing motion. And it seemed to pay off, as my arms wrapped around something humanoid and there were a slight grunt of surprise. I let go and stepped back as I heard him speak.

"Well, seems to me that you've caught me," he said. I grinned in the dark, my long awaited victory finally attained.

"And now, we go again," he said. Before I could react, I felt the "stick of awareness" whack me in the stomach, and I doubled over slightly, gritting my teeth and cursing, though I still had th3e sense of mind to do it mentally.

It just never ends with this guy, I thought. And so we went into round 2...

-0-

It happened when I was punching and kicking the dummy. I had been going at it with a vengeance, focusing on with determination to get in as many blows with as many different types in as short a time as possible. To an outsider it may have looked like I was almost dancing with the punches, but I was focused entirely on the goal I had in mind. To be as good as possible with as little time as possible. Gabriel said that this was to learn to switch styles of fighting in an instant when needed.

Despite my determination, my focus kept going over events of the past year. Had it been a year training here? I really wasn't paying attention to the passage of time, since learning so many new things kept my mind of time. But today, as I landed each blow in a different type, like going from straight punch to uppercut to low and high kicks, a new face would appear in my mind.

The faces of the group I used to run with, their faces grinning at me with intentions I didn't want to speak of. My mother crying over something she never told me about when I was younger, and Chris being picked on by school bullies when we were attending that god awful school they have here. A little girl crying over her mother, the mother's face so pale and empty, the eyes staring back at me.

My blows were hitting harder and harder, faster and faster, and my teeth were grit in determined, furious anger. Finally, the face of Santos appeared, sneering at me with disdain. I snapped, and my latest blow sent the dummy on it's back with a thud. I was breathing heavily, as though the exertion had finally gotten to me. And then I smelled the smoke, and whirled behind me to find the source.

"Shit!"

A small fire had sprouted up on the wall behind me, apparently triggered by my inadvertent emotional state during my rage. I looked around for something to put it out with, but unfortunately, my eyes beheld nothing useful.

Not good...not good...NOT GOOD!

Just as I was beginning to panic, I heard the sound of someone running down the stairs. Gabriel came charging down, a small fire extinguisher in his hands. He took in the sight for a second before racing over to the site of the fire, which had slowly begun to build up more, and let loose with a burst from the extinguisher. And another one until the fire was gone and the wall just had a black smudge on it. I opened my mouth to speak but before I could, he whirled around and stared at me hard.

"What caused this?" he asked. I kept trying to speak but my voice had abandoned me. I hadn't had an incident with my strange ability for months. And now, just when I was comfortable, it had struck. And now Gabriel, who had grown into someone I cherished, had witnessed it. Did he suspect me of causing it?

"I...I..." I stuttered. He put the extinguisher down and reached forward, taking my shoulders in his hands.

"Breathe Michael. Just take deep breathes and let it come." I obeyed and eventually my mind calmed down. "Now can you tell me what caused the wall to catch fire?"

"I...I don't know..." I said. It pained me truly to lie to him. Actually, it felt even worse than with my family. But after all the stuff that had happened in the world, with the Avengers and the whole thing with powered people coming out of the woodwork, there was so much fear. And so I made the choice to try and keep this a secret, as much as possible, which could mean no one to me.

"The wall didn't just sprout a fire on its own Michael."

"Faulty wiring maybe?"

Gabriel stared at me for another moment before sighing.

"I suppose there is a completely natural explanation for this. Don't worry about it." He picked up the extinguisher and placed it next to the stairs, turning back to me. "When you are ready, you are free to go. I need to get some more sleep."

I nodded. He bid me goodnight and left, leaving me alone in the basement that I had almost set on fire. I swallowed hard and decided to turn in for the night myself. This was just too close a call for me to continue comfortably. I found myself hoping that he didn't suspect anything. He had been in SHIELD for most of his life, and from what I knew, they had a tendency to find things out rather quickly, even with the most obscure details.

I grabbed my coat and left through the door, making sure it was locked behind me, and began my jog back to my home. Hopefully, nothing else would come of this.

-0-

"Happy birthday honey," mom said, the cake before me alight with candles. I couldn't help grinning from ear to ear, as all nineteen candles lit the dark kitchen in a warm orange glow. I couldn't help grinning from ear to ear, the atmosphere in the room one of genuine love and affection.

I reached forward and embraced my Mom, Chris waiting right behind her. I hugged him tight too, maybe more tightly than I would usually, and turned to face the cake, alight with fire. I posed for a few pictures, as my Mom had a tradition of sorts of getting pictures taken on our birthdays with the cake. And then I was finally told to make the famous wish and blow those candles.

I closed my eyes for show for a few seconds, not honestly wishing for anything in particular, Just that life could keep staying somewhat normal now, just like this, in this warm and safe environment, where the cold dark night could not reach, and all its evil's and tribulations would wait until I was damn well ready.

Finally, I took a breath and blew the candles out in one gust, and Mom clapped. The knife came and soon, the cake was being passed around our little family, and as usual, the chocolate had never before tasted so good. Mom always knew that I liked my cakes chocolate on the double, and I couldn't help but make a small sound of tasty pleasure as I ate.

We assembled in the living room, where I awaited my present. I knew that it would only be some small trinket, as we couldn't afford to go beyond basic living. But Mom walked out carrying a necklace in her hands. I took it in my hand and realized that it opened. I popped the lid and grinned.

Inside was a small picture of both my Mother and Chris, arms around each other, smiling. I smiled as well, and hugged both of them. For just this one night, this one night of the year, it was fine. I was content. And I hoped that such contentment may be lasting through the rest of the year.

-0-

We were practicing throwing knives again, and I got to admit, I was finding myself really enjoying it. Gabriel called it an art form, and I was deciding that it really was such a thing. The concentration and practice it required was impressive, and I loved the fact that I was finding myself more often than not, hitting near the bull's eye, if not directly on it.

"Well, it would seem that you're a natural at this my boy," he said, as he leaned back and chucked another, hitting right on the mark as usual. "Just a little more practice and you'll be outmatching me, I'll say."

I grinned like a wolf at that. I couldn't help it. Praise from this man was almost like a drug. It must be the aura he gave off, a fatherly sort. But clearly, one that had lived life on the edge, and knew a thing or two about fighting his way out of a sticky situation.

"Were you the best at SHIELD, when you worked in it?" I asked. He grinned and shook his head.

"I never really thought of myself as the best knife thrower in SHIELD, no," he said. "It wasn't really considered that much of a thing there. Obviously, everyone and there dog was firing off rounds at targets all day, or beating the crap out of each other. But for me, this was always my thing. I don't know how to explain it otherwise. It just...is."

I nodded.

"So were you a good shot with a gun then?" I asked. He shrugged.

"I suppose I was good enough for them. But the best shot with a gun? Oh dear lord no. I knew several that could put bullets in targets before I could ever raise my own up. And they weren't missing either."

He paused and raised his head slightly, as though remembering something. Then he gave a chuckle.

"To be honest, the best shot I ever saw was actually from one of my students I taught back in the day. I didn't teach shooting mind you, but I always stuck my head in to see how they were doing. There was this one young man who could fire off all his rounds faster than you could blink. And I'll be damned if he wasn't hitting every single damned one of those targets."

I nodded. He gave another chuckle.

"Actually, if I recall, he was even better with a bow and arrow. I swear, I never thought anyone that good with a gun would want to use a bow, but if he was that good, then I wasn't going to argue."

I nodded again. He smiled to himself.

"I swear that guy had the eyes of freaking hawk..."

He was silent for few more minutes before picking up another knife and throwing it, again never seeming to falter in his aim. I followed suit, if slightly less accurately, but I could see myself loving this in the future.

After knife throwing he began to slowly fight me with various weapons, like knives and blunt instruments. He explained that this would be the next step in our trainings. To learn to fight someone armed, with absolutely nothing but the weapon that my body could be made into.

-0-

The training in fighting armed opponents lasted for several weeks, until he was confident that I could handle myself if someone attacked me with a knife or baton or whatever. Then he began to show me the same thing in reverse. And with that came a solemn talk.

"Michael, you understand that if you use these things like I'm showing you, you could kill, right?" he asked. I nodded in confusion.

"Isn't that the idea?" I asked.

"Yes it is. But let me tell you something. You remember that talk I gave you about redemption?"

I nodded.

"That also applies to your enemies. The wheels of fate are ever turning Michael. And just because someone is your enemy today, doesn't make them your enemy tomorrow. If you must kill, then that is your prerogative. But I implore you; don't make it your first thought."

I was silent for a moment, taking in what he said. I finally nodded my understanding. This man had lived this life for forty years. Clearly he had gained and lost in those years. And if the wisdom in this man's eyes told me anything, it was that this was something that he had come to the conclusion of at the end of those forty long, hard years. So I, in all my barely nineteen years, would be a complete fool not to listen and heed them.

"Alright," I said. He smiled and gestured me to the entryway, my signal to go on home.

-0-

When I entered his home the next night, I felt as though things were different. His mood was off. And as I meditated, something felt darker about it. He arose and looked at me with a hard look, something that was foreign on his face in the last months.

"Basement Michael. Several minutes."

I swallowed and nodded, not sure what I may have done. He disappeared and I took several deep breathes to compose myself, wondering what had caused his mood to shift. I entered the basement to find him standing in the center, his hand at his sides. He pointed toward a spot on the floor in front of him.

"Stand there and face me."

I obeyed. For a moment there was nothing but silence as we stared at each other. I refused to let my face show fear, and I kept my gaze held coolly, even if my heart was sputtering a mile a minute.

"Do you remember what I told you when you first began? The test?"

I didn't say anything, keeping my face neutral. He continued.

"Well Michael, I've taught you pretty much everything I know, or can think of. Now I need you to prove something to me."

"Prove what?" I asked. There was only a second's pause.

"That you've learned..." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. And then he attacked.

He was right when he said he wouldn't hold back. This man was a master of what he did. His blows were well timed and pinpoint, and he had some serious force behind them. This was not the movements or power of an old man, but a battle hardened veteran of many black operations that I couldn't even begin to imagine.

And he had taught me. Clearly he must, because if I had tried to think about what was happening, I would have ended up in a bloody pulp on the ground, with him standing over me shaking his head. But that was it. If I had been thinking.

But instead of thinking, I did what he had drilled into me. I reacted. And it was as if my body knew what to do as it my eyes perceived it.

My hands and arms blocked his punches. My body twisted and turned in reaction to his kicks. And then I found myself throwing out counterattacks of my own, and they were blocked with the skill of the veteran he was.

We danced this dance of pain, both of us seemingly focused on taking down the other. I didn't believe that I was doing this well against him, but then again, I didn't believe anything. I was too bust focusing on the immediate task at hand, which was fighting off my teacher, and taking him out of the fight.

Punch was blocked and counterattacked. Kicks was grabbed and flipped around, forcing grunts of pain and surprise from both of us. I don't know how long we fought. It seemed as though I was in a different world, a different place. And I felt different as well.

I felt _alive_. The blood rushing in my ears. The air in and out of my lungs. My body whirling and thrusting and kicking. My god, I had never felt this before, not even in all the training we had done before.

I was home...

On and on we danced the dance of punch, kick, block, evade, and counter. I took a hit to my left cheek that forced a grunt of pain from my lungs, but did not stop me from counter attacking with a blow of my own to Gabriel's gut. He let out a gasp of air, clearly feeling the hit to be harder than expected. If he wasn't holding back, then obviously, neither was I.

He tried to counter attack me with a leg sweep, intending to put me on my back. But I felt the attack coming, and made a short jump to evade the blow. As Gabriel finished his attack and hit nothing but air, I countered with an uppercut. His head was forced back by the blow, and I wasted no time in positioning myself and giving him a knee to his gut, forcing a small cry of pain. Should I have let up here? No, this was what he wanted, to test me after all this time learning. And so here I was demonstrating his lessons.

I did pause for a moment, as I felt that even though he would have probably want me to continue to attack as I would in a fight out on the street, I gave him just a few seconds pause. I respected this man far too much to not let him position himself for a fair battle. Was it foolish of me to allow someone as skilled as him to prepare himself? Maybe, but that was my choice. He assumed a defensive stance and took several deep breathes to regain his breathe. I myself did as well. Without breaking posture, he chuckled.

"You really have learned my boy," he said. Without losing my focus o him I grinned.

"I had a good teacher," I replied, and Gabriel's smile grew wider, clearly pleased to hear the compliment.

"Well, shall we finish this then?" he asked, still smiling.

"Yes, let's."

And he attacked again, with blows coming from all directions at me. The man clearly was throwing everything he had into this fight. And I responded in kind, just as I knew he would expect me to.

Punches were met with punches, kicks with kicks, and we twirled around one another, trying to find an opening in the others defenses. This was an all-out effort by both of us, student and teacher. And it would decide how this would end.

I finally saw an opening for a high kick. It was as Gabriel explained, one of the most dangerous to try, as it could leave you wide open to a counter that could hurt, badly. But to land a hard kick to an opponent's head was more often than not, the finishing move, and leave the kicker the victor. And so I went for it. My leg snapped up and my foot flew toward Gabriel's face.

I think the fight must have drained him of stamina. He wasn't a young man after all. And so his mind must have faltered for just a critical second. And in that second my foot was aiming for his face. He realized this but was too late to stop it. My foot met his head, and he toppled over, almost in slow motion.

He hit the ground and did not move for a second, sending a shock of fear through my heart. But slowly he raised his hand to his face, as I reassured my stance, preparing for any possible trick. But no, it seemed a trick was not forthcoming. He looked and saw me in my stance, prepared for anything he may throw at me.

Slowly, he got up, his eyes never leaving mine. My muscles tensed, preparing to strike. He arose to his full height and we stared each other down for several moments. Finally he smiled.

"You Michael...have passed my test. Well done."

I had done it. I had beaten him. Months ago, I didn't know exactly how long, I was getting my ass handed to me by this man. And now I had been taught everything he had to teach. And here I was, victorious before him. He approached me and I relaxed my fighting stance. He smiled and nodded slightly, reaching out a hand. I reached forward and took it in my own.

"You learned everything I can teach you in these circumstances Michael. If you wish, then you need not come and clean my house anymore," he said the last part with a grin. I grinned back.

"What about our 'other' thing?" I asked. He chuckled.

"Well, in that case, I may need the exercise every now and then..."

The wave of accomplishment washed over me, and I couldn't help myself. I threw my head back and laughed a laugh I had been saving for months. And soon he joined in, and we both stood in that basement for what felt like forever, just the two of us, laughing.

And then he stopped. My laugh died out as his face looked as though it were registering something unknown, and then contorted itself into an expression of deep pain. I tried to reach out a hand and grab him, but I was too late and he fell to his side, his mouth frozen in an expression of extreme pain, and his arms wrapped around his chest.

"What's wrong?" I was asking frantically. He opened his mouth and tried ro speak, but the words were coming out in stutters.

"Chest..feels like...squeezed..."

I didn't know what else to do. I told him I would be right back and grabbed the phone, dialing for 911. I told them what was happening, forcing my voice to stay calm and my mind focused, though that was impossible to do so.

"We'll be there shortly sir," the dispatcher said. I couldn't help my scream of emotional agony and fear.

" _THEY FUCKING BETTER!"_

Gabriel was on the floor, his breathe seeming to be very forced, as though he did indeed have some sort of crushing weight on his chest. My fingers trembled as I threw myself down next to him, and grasped his shoulder, my own breathe threatening to take me into hyperventilation.

"I called an ambulance. They'll be here any minute..." I tried to force my voice to stay calm. I couldn't lose focus. Not here. Not when Gabriel needed me to stay on target when he couldn't.

He breathed out and gasped in another breathe of air, and I wrapped my arms around him, emotions that I had thought I had been able to learn to keep under wraps on the verge of breaking out like a shattered dam.

I may or may not have smelled smoke, when I knew we were not cooking. But if my powers decided to show themselves here, I wasn't in the emotional state to stop anything. So I prayed to whatever the hell was up there that someone could get here with that goddamn ambulance.

Finally, after holding him tight and even rocking with him as he fought for air, I heard them knock. What followed was a rush of events that I didn't truly comprehend. All I could think was saving Gabriel, my mentor. My friend.

The last thought I remember having with clarity was _not like this...not like this..._

 **If you enjoyed then please leave a little review. If you think there is something that can be done better or explained better, state it and I will see what can be done in the future. Until then, take care.**


	6. A Promise

Chapter 6: A Promise

I hate hospitals. I really hate them.

There are a variety of reasons to hate hospitals. For one thing there's the stench. That bacteria killing substance they use to sterilize everything gives off a sickly sweet smell. You don't want to touch anything, because you never know if the last person who held something had some sort of virus that could kill you the next day, which is something someone in a hospital could have, Okay, maybe someone anywhere could but let's face it, a hospital is the place you would most likely suspect it.

And of course there is the grim factor that death is an everyday occurrence in hospitals. Everyday there is a life that has come to an end, either by natural causes, an acquired medical condition, or some violent method that waited until arrival at the hospital to finally kill the poor soul.

Yes, I hated hospitals. Yes I do. But at the very moment, the spot from where I sat in a waiting room in the ER section, I would not be moved if Heaven, Earth, and Hell were to try and force me. I had a very good reason to stay rooted right where I was, and that reason was being examined in the next operating room, where I knew he was strung up with all sorts of wires and gizmos, and most likely had a tube shoved down his throat, lying there helpless. And if there were anything I knew about Gabriel, it was that he was anything but helpless.

 _This whole thing is just...shitty..._

Yeah, that was putting it mildly. I had finally passed his test. I didn't know if I was suppose to simply be a match for him or to beat him outright, but he said I had passed his final test. As I sat there with my family, waiting for the report, my mind wandered back to the events of the past months, of how many I didn't keep track, of everything he had taught me. And I knew deep down that if he were to die, I would have lost something so valuable. A mentor. Someone who had pulled me back from a dark spot. Someone who openly showed me mercy when he could have had the cops grab me and send me away for what I helped do. Someone who gave me a chance and showed me that redemption could indeed be possible. Could be reached if I were to try for it.

I was possible losing a friend right then and there. A true friend. Almost a father...

No, this wasn't going to go down like this. He's a fighter. He had beaten my young ass enough times to prove it, even besides his history. He couldn't go out like this. He just couldn't. Beaten by life like this?

I took a deep breath and ran my hand through my hair. I debated praying, as if that might do some good, but I was just not in the mood. If God or whatever was ever going to help, now would be the time. I'll truly believe then.

 _If you want my faith, you're gonna have to earn it,_ I thought to myself.

Beside me, Mom was sitting with her hands in her lap, clearly upset at my mood. I had called them both, my voice betraying my panic, to my shame. They had rushed over very shortly after the paramedics had taken Gabriel, and we rushed as fast as we legally could to the hospital, where we were told that it was a waiting game to see what was the matter.

Did I mention that I hate waiting games? They were a bore before. And now with what was happening, they were outright torture. My foot began to tap against the floor, faster and faster, and my fingers tapped the arm rest of the chair I was sitting in. I was slightly shaking, and I felt as though I were a bomb about to explode, pouring all the rage and fear that was bubbling inside me.

Mother placed her hand on my arm and ran several soothing brushes against it, but it did little to ease my tension. My teeth were grit together, and I realized that sitting there would not be an option much longer. Something inside me wanted out, and if I didn't let it out, then there would be serious trouble, for me and anyone around me.

And so I shot up from the chair, to the surprise of Mom and Chris, and began to pace up and down the hallway, my hands gripped tight into fists. I felt the tenseness in my chest, not the icy feel pf grief, but some kind of strangling anger, more a fiery rage than a cold fearful sadness. This continued for some time, how long I don't know or didn't care. But I was too pissed off by the whole situation. I had to do something. Anything to take my mind off it.

"Michael?" Mom called from her seat. She looked at me with worried eyes and gestured me back to the chairs. "Please sit down honey. You're making us nervous."

"Nervous?" I asked in a cold whisper. Nervous? My friend was possibly dying in a hospital room and I was only nervous? I had to get out of there. Before something very bad happened.

"I need some air," I said, and turned around and began to walk briskly for the exit. I heard Mom call out for me, but I didn't acknowledge it, only kept going faster and faster. I went out the front door of the hospital and didn't stop walking, breathing in the night air deep into my lungs. Blessed chill.

I turned and made my way to the back areas, trying to find somewhere isolated and quiet. I was taking deep breathes, trying to calm myself as I had been taught by Gabriel. The same man who I felt as though his life was ending. I don't know how, but it was a sensation that I couldn't describe. A deep feel in my gut that was trying to tear its way out. And so I needed to find somewhere to let it.

Finally I turned a corner and found an empty alley. It was deserted, and several garbage cans were standing in one corner. So I made my way over and moved them to hide myself from casual eyes, and curled my legs to my chest, and wrapped my arms around myself. At first I rocked mself back and forth in an attempt to calm myself.

That didn't work. And so I tried a different tactic. Something Gabriel had taught me in my very first lesson. I closed my eyes and forced my mind to try and be as clear as possible. I needed to calm myself before I flipped out and burned something down, and that could mean someone being burned alive as well. The last thing I needed was for someone innocent to suffer the fate I dealt that man, what felt so long ago now.

I focused on happy memories, trying like hell to keep the image of Gabriel in pain out. I recalled my first training session with him, and felt a phantom pain in my back and ass, courtesy of him throwing me down so many times as I tried in vain to land a blow. I recalled the lessons e gave, slowly growing more and more detailed, until I was performing moves that I thought I would be seeing only in movies.

I smiled through the pain as the memory of us laughing together over something he had shared, one of the stories he would tell of his time in that whole business that was S.H.I.E.L.D. I still couldn't bring myself to believe half of the stories he told, but after bearing witness first hand to his skill and determination, I couldn't deny the possibilities.

I realized that I was shivering, but whatever my body was trying to tell me, my mind was blocking out. I was in a zone of mental warmth, using the techniques he had taught me to calm myself. It would seem that in this moment, those lessons had truly been worthwhile.

And then I realized with a start that this could very well be the end for him. At his age, despite his physical condition being much greater than others of his age, something like this could be what kills him. He could die tonight for all I knew. And when I realized this, the concentration I had broke.

A sniffle and then to my shame, a silent sob. I managed to force the sound to stay in, but the expression of a silent scream was upon my face. I _wanted_ to burn something. To watch it turn to ash at my whim, if that would bring me some form of final release. I also thought that maybe hitting something might help, but it seemed that the inferno in me, that was now part of me, wanted to blaze out and light up the night.

"Hey kid, you alright?"

A voice, actually rather kind sounding reached my ears. At first I ignored it. I couldn't possibly be seen, couldn't I? But then I heard it again, closer this time.

"Hey, you need help?"

I looked up to see a tall, handsome black skinned man standing at the edge of my little trash can fort. He looked down at me with concern on his face, and for a moment, I was touched that he had walked all this way over to my hiding place. But I quickly put a cold look on my face. This was not the time for pity.

"Yeah, I'm good," I replied, keeping my voice neutral. He looked at me for a moment before speaking, his face never losing that concerned look. _Wipe that off your face right now,_ I thought.

"You sure don't seem so right now. Something going on?" he asked. _Damn you..._

"Nothing you need to be concerned about," I told him with the same cold tone. I was so riled up by recent events that if he kept this up I might put him on his ass. Might as well use some of that skill set Gabriel taught me to relieve some tension the martial way.

To my amazement and annoyance he just cracked a half smile. "Well, if there was nothing wrong, why would you be hiding behind these trash cans looking like you're about to fall apart?

Oh hell, he saw that. Maybe I should bloody his smiling face up so he would regret seeing my moment of weakness. It would make me feel better anyway. I felt my hands grip into fists, tight hard ones. And I think he may have sensed the sudden shift; as his expression changed, and he raised both his hands in a gesture of what I guessed might be peace.

"Alright then. I see you'd rather be alone. I'll just leave you to it."

With that, he turned and walked away. I blinked at the sudden change. But then I realized something. The man had looked familiar somehow. Like I had seen him of TV or something. But he was gone and I needed to get back to my family and friend. I turned back toward the hospital and set off at a jog, putting this incident behind me for now.

-0-

We waited again for what felt like another eternity before the doors opened and a doctor entered the waiting area, clipboard in his hand. He made his way toward us as I forced myself to slowly get up, instead of rushing the man, grabbing his throat, and demanding the news.

"Are you here for Mr. Gabriel Strong?" he asked. So Strong was his last name? I never actually knew. But it fit.

"Yes, we are," Mother answered, as though she sensed my tension and felt like it would be better for her to do the talking. The doctor nodded and looked at the notes on his board for just a moment before giving us a grim look.

"I'm afraid I need you to brace yourselves. The examination we made revealed a serious problem."

No...

"Mr. Strong was advised some years ago that his heart wouldn't be able to be as active as it once was. Despite his health, Mr. Strong was advised to keep it easy on the exercise. However, it would seem that he has taken as step too far."

A cold shock went through me. This didn't mean what I hoped it meant. Please god...no...

"What does this mean?" my Mother asked. In my mind I screamed at her. What do you think it means! It means Gabriel's heart is giving out!

"It means that...please brace yourself...that he doesn't have much time. This time, his heart really has broken its last legs."

My legs were about to give out if this news continued. He had been told not to stress his heart. Did that mean that...no...it couldn't. I couldn't take that if it did...but I had to know...

"Doc..." I said my voice weak. He heard me and nodded toward me.

"Yes?"

"Would something like a fight do it? Or training too hard over time...would all that...be enough to cause this...?"

He looked at me for a moment and then nodded...

"Absolutely. That would send it over the edge quickly. If he really were involved in such activities, then I would be amazed that he would have lasted very long..."

I didn't hear anything after that. My heart felt like it was in a vice-like grip, and my legs buckled from under me. Mother gasped in surprise and Chris knelt beside me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"Michael! Michael are you alright?" he asked. No, I wasn't. And I had a feeling that I would not be alright for a very long time.

I could almost feel all my control slipping. The news that I had just received was crushing all resolve I had to keep my ability in check. I felt my very soul scream out in emotional torment. But I had to control it. I had to. If I let loose the fire here right next to everyone, who know what could happen.

So I took a deep breath and fought back against the inferno inside of me. And this was proving to be the greatest fight so far. It was like trying to hold back an ocean, and ocean of fire. I grit my teeth, from both pain of the psychical and emotional nature.

Mom, standing next to me, saw me tense up and placed her hand on my back.

"Michael, please talk to me. What's wrong?"

"Everything," I forced out. To my horror, my voice gave the sound that I was on the verge of tears, ad to my greater horror, I realized that I was. I felt as though I was about to come apart at the very seams of my soul.

"He's dying Mom...He's...and it's all my fault..."

Oh honey, you can't blame yourself for this. These things sometimes happen, and there is nothing we can do to prevent it..."

"Yes Mom, it is. It really is my fault. If he hadn't been-"

I stopped myself before I could say anything else. I had almost allowed my pain to make me confess everything he had been teaching me on the side, with the cleaning the house job being an almost cover. And I still didn't know if she would approve or not. So I clamped my jaw shut, both against sobs and the truth.

"If he hadn't been what?" Chris asked. I shook my head.

"Just forget about it, okay? I..I'll tell you guys later..." Chris just nodded while Mom continued to gaze at me with concern. The doctor just stood there with a soft, understanding face. He must have seen this kind of thing play out many times over. I forced myself to stand upright, bringing my shoulders back.

"I want to see him," I requested, though at this point it was like a demand. I had to do something it seemed to try and fix this. He was dying because he had defied a medical order and trained me, causing strain to his heart I could only imagine. And I would not let this go down like this. I couldn't.

"You may. He doesn't have very long. It may be best you say your goodbye's now while he-"

"No," I cut him off. I didn't say anything else, and made a move toward the door of his room. I turned to face my family before losing sight of them.

"I need to see him alone. Alright?" I asked, this time in a softer tone. Mom simply nodded while Chris said nothing. I then made my way to his room, having been told the number while we were waiting for news.

The walk to his room felt like a condemned man walking to the gallows. I swallowed and kept going, finally reaching the door. I pushed it open and entered silently, closing it gently behind me. The sight before me made me want to throw up.

Gabriel was in the hospital bed, and he looked so weak. I had never before even thought that the man before me was capable of looking like this. His arms, so strong, were loose to his sides. His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly ajar. The only sound was the beeping of the heart monitor, and I heard god chunks of time between each one.

I felt myself begin to tremble. I closed my eyes tightly for a moment, forcing my mind to be clear for just this moment, what could be my last with him. The man who had turned my life around was now dying weak and helpless in a bed, and it was by training me that he was dying. I have to see this. To see what I had allowed to happen.

"Well," a raspy voice called out. "Are you just going to stand there, or do you have a purpose here?"

The voice was weak, but it was his, with his usual wit. I saw him looking toward me, a smile on his face. His eyes were sparkling slightly, seeming to have regained a little power with me being here. I walked over to the side of the bed and debated putting my hand in his. But I decided against this, as that wasn't my sort of thing, and I doubted it was his either.

"I think the doc already told you what had happened. Am I right?" he asked. I nodded and opened my mouth to reply. To my shame, the moment I opened my mouth to say something, _anything_ , there came a sharp gasp instead of words, indicating a crying moment was coming. He put his hand up suddenly, the quickness startling the sob away.

"No Michael. No tears or crying here. I...I want my last bit of time on this earth to be dignified. Can you do that for me?" he asked in a soft, paternal tone, the same he had used when he counseled me during redemption. I swallowed and nodded, tears however, still burnt at my eyes. He gave me another smile and nodded.

"Good, very good."

I finally composed myself to say something.

"The doctors...they said you were told to...watch your heart..."

"Yes yes, I know what the doctors said. Unfortunately, it seems that this time they may have been right..."

He drifted off for a moment, and I feared the worst, but he resumed his gaze and smiled.

"But let me tell you something boy. I never was one to sit around and twiddle my thumbs. That job I had at the store? It bored me to tears. I am a man that needs action in life, no matter how old or decrepit I may be. And when you.."

He let out a cough, and I reached over to a box of tissues next to the bed. I offered him one and he took it, covering his mouth. He let out several hacking coughs before regaining his voice.

"When you walked into that store, and I saw how you acted when that poor woman was killed, I saw something in you. Potential. Someone who was worth saving. And I made the choice that night to approach you in the park. To offer you that choice..."

He gave a small, soft smile.

"Mercy Michael. Remember what I told you? An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. I offered you that choice, and you accepted. And I made the choice to train you, knowing the risks to my health. Not just because you asked, but because that is what I do. I have always wanted to help people find themselves. I did so sometimes in SHIELD, but not nearly as much as I wanted to. With you however..."

I braced myself. While I was successfully holding back the tears, what he was saying could usher them back anew.

"With you, I think I finally did it. In a way that I liked, not the way I was ordered to. I guess we can say that my life is now complete..."

"No," I whispered, my voice tinged with intense, yet quiet emotion. It sounded almost alien to my ears. "There is still more you can do..."

He chuckled weakly.

"No Michael, it's done. You are my greatest success. And I...am proud of you."

He coughed again.

"Just...remember what I have taught you. You don't need to kill everyone who wrongs you. Sometimes, turning the other cheek is the best. Just look at what it did for you. It brought you to a better place in life. I will go to my grave a happy man for that. Redemption Michael..."

Finally, I let out a whimper. He chuckled again.

"I suppose that's inevitable. Don't be afraid Michael. Never be afraid to do what is right. Not what others tell you to do or what circumstances might try to force you to do. Do it because it's the right thing to do. And one other thing before...before the curtains fall..."

I listened intently. It seems as though this was my final lesson...

"Love each day. Love your family. Love your friends. And show mercy to others, because you never know when that mercy might be paid back. Be...compassionate to the weak...be merciful to your opponents...and redeem yourself of your mistakes...every day...redeem yourself..."

He took a raspy breathe, and grit his teeth, as though he was summoning every last bit of willpower he had left. "Remember that one may fall a hundred times in his life...but the one who wins...is the one who gets up one more time. When you fall Michael...and fall you will...get...back...up..."

He was fading fast. To hell with my beliefs. I took his hand in mine, and gripped it softly, reminding him that he was still in the world of the living, among a friend, for however many seconds that was. And I felt him grip my own with whatever strength he had left.

"I think...of you as...the son I...never had."

He opened his eyes and met me, and for a moment, a smile just as powerful as before shone his face.

"Goodbye my son..."

His grip became weak as his eyes slowly closed. And then it was limp in my hand. I didn't let go. Couldn't let go. The man I owed my life to was now gone. Gone to whatever place people as noble and merciful as him went.

I heard the monitor go flat and give out the classic flat line sound. But I paid it no heed. My mouth was slightly open, and I finally began to force the words out.

"I...I...I promise...I...promise...I swear it..."

I kept repeating these words, holding Gabriel's hand even as doctors and nurses and whatever rushed in. They finally pried my hand from his and my last view of him was of him lying peacefully as the medical personnel did whatever they did, having now boarded the bus that would take him home...

-0-

Outside, I made my way back to the waiting room. Mom and Chris were there, waiting for me. They saw my blank expression and rushed toward me, Mother grasping me in a tight embrace.

"We're so sorry Michael. I didn't know how close you were to him...we just thought you had an arrangement..."

"I did," I replied, my voice soft. I should be brimming with tears right now, but I was too numb. All I knew in my mind was a promise.

We eventually went back to our apartment. Mother told me that I might be able to go to his house, since he had given me a key some time ago to help me enter and get it clean if he wasn't available. She said that I could go back and clean it if I wished, though Chris voiced his opinion that it wasn't worth cleaning a dead man's house. He said it in a gentle tone, though I still felt the sting. But I refrained from telling him off.

I went to my room and curled up in an empty corner, my knees drawn up to my chest. I rocked myself and kept repeating the mantra I told him.

"I promise...I promise..."

And I wouldn't go back on it...never...

-0-

The funeral was several days later. There were very few people actually there. I recognized none of them, and to be honest, I didn't particularly care. The only person who mattered at this moment was lying cold and dead in the coffin in front of the altar, and I kept my gaze firmly focused on it, rather than the holy man or guests.

The eulogy was given. Several of the others spoke. But I paid no heed. I gave no speech or eulogy of my own. What he had done for me was beyond words. The mercy he shown me, even in my darkest days was something I could never put into a verbal description. It was, to me, as though beyond human understanding. And at the same time the shining example of humanity itself.

The coffin was opened and I allowed the others to pass before his body before my turn. I deliberately went last. And when I reached the coffin and looked upon my mentor for the final time, I leaned down, as though only he could hear, wherever he was.

"I will never be able to...pay back what you did for me. But I promise you this, my friend. What you did for me will never, ever be in vain. I don't know how yet, but I swear on my life, what you taught me...what you made me...will not be wasted."

I leaned back up and took a deep breathe, clearing away any sign of tear and smiled upon him.

"Goodbye my friend..."

-0-

I reentered the apartment several hours later, making my way back from Gabriel's now empty of life home. I had done my usual routine. Gone through and made sure the trashes were empty, cleaned the kitchen if it needed any dust removed, and made sure to throw away any spoiled food. All as I had done when he was alive and breathing.

And then I always made my way to what was rapidly becoming a sanctuary of mine. His basement. Where he had taught me, drilled me, and molded me into someone better. And now it was one of the few places in the world that felt almost, as if just as much, home.

The equipment was all still there, as he had left it. And the basement was one of the few places where I moved things in order to gain some room to move. And I trained myself. Every day after cleaning, which was practically every single day. I trained. I practiced the same moves he had taught me, over and over again, until I felt I could do them with my eyes closed, and I actually tested that theory several times, with the theory proving to be correct. My muscles really did have a sharp memory.

I don't really know how long I would stay down there. There are no clocks or time keeping equipment. It is just me and my objective for the day, from punches and kicks, to training my throws with the practice dummy, or at least as much as I could, to throwing the knives he had shown me, to mixing the room up and turning off the lights, locating everything in the dark.

And then I would jog back home, as I always did when he was alive, and showered before going to bed. My Mother and Chris never questioned me on these habits. Never asked me why I was going to a dead man's house and staying there for hours. I suppose they realized that this was becoming my method of grieving. To try and preserve the routine I had for as long as I could.

One day as I was returning to my room after a shower, my mother knocked on the door. I opened it and allowed her to enter. She walked over to my bed and sat down, gesturing me to do the same. I obeyed without questioning.

"Are you doing alright, dear?" she asked. I nodded, not in the mood to verbalize my answer. She nodded her understanding.

"I understand you were a lot closer to him then you had let on. And I'm sorry dear. I'm so very sorry for you."

While her sympathy was nice, it would get me nowhere. But it was my Mother, so I listened without complaint. She stared off into space for a moment before continuing.

"We got a letter today, from Gabriel's attorney."

Huh?

"He said he needed to see you in person. I told him we would swing by tomorrow."

Gabriel had an attorney? And he needed to see me? What was going on here?

"Did he say what he wanted?" I asked warily. She shook her head.

"No. Just that he needed to see you in person. And it was Gabriel's wish that he do so."

If Gabriel had wished me to see his attorney in person, then so be it. I nodded.

"Tomorrow then. I'll be there."

"We'll be there. I want to know what is going on to you know. And I won't be on the sidelines any longer Michael. You are my son, and I am your Mother. I want to know what this meeting is about. So I'm coming with you. Alright?"

Her declaration shocked me, but I nodded. Maybe her coming along was for the best, since I really had had no experience with anything relating to the legal department. She gave me a quick kiss on the forehead and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

I settled into bed and entered a dreamless sleep. Courtesy of the meditation...

-0-

The lawyer for Gabriel Strong sat before us at his desk, a small stack of papers upon it. My mother had dressed us up rather nicely, which made me somewhat uncomfortable, since formal wear was not my thing. But I defaulted to her judgment and let her have her way.

The man picked up one of the papers and looked at me.

"You are indeed Michael Fenton?"

I nodded. He nodded as well.

"I have here the will from Mr. Gabriel Strong. It explicitly mentions you."

I tensed. So did my Mother. The man began to read.

"I, Mr. Gabriel Strong, being of sound mind and body, of my own free will and accord, do hereby will that in the event of my death, that all my earthly possessions go to Mr. Michael Fenton."

My mother's mouth opened and her hand covered her mouth in a silent gasp. I gripped the edges of my chair tighter and tighter.

"I leave my home and everything in it, as well as all money I possess to him, for him to dispense with as he sees fit. It is my wish that he do what he feels is best, whether it be to sell it or move into it. I leave the choice to him."

I opened my mouth in shock. My Mother began to stutter in shock.

"His house though...Could we even afford..."

"I beg your pardon miss," the lawyer spoke. "But Mr. Strong had a rather substantial amount of money in several different accounts. The total does come up to at least several hundred thousand..."

My Mother's mouth hung open. I felt my body going numb. He really had left his home and all that money to me. Why? Then his final words came back to me in that same, haunting tone.

" _I see...you as the...son I...never had..."_

Son. He had seen me as the son he never actually had. I felt a tightness in my chest, and I turned to face Mother.

"Mom...do you think you could...handle the paperwork for a moment?"

She nodded, as though she could sense what was coming. I bolted upright and made my way to the bathroom. Gratefully, it was empty. I stood in a stall, and allowed the tears to fall. This time I made no move to silence my whimpering cries, only make sure they did not evolve into sobs. Too much attention.

This was his final gift. To make sure that me and my family were set up somewhere nice, with enough money to see us through. To change our circumstances around. This was something I could never truly repay. A kindness that even now I felt I did not deserve. But would never refuse.

He really had given me life...

-0-

Chris was astounded when he heard the news. The walk back had been silent, but I could hear my Mother's mind working out, without even needing to be a mind reader. _Why had he done that? Just what was his relation with my son?_

The next few days were a blur of activity. Of course Mother would make sure we took advantage of this new place. The apartment was always small and cramped, cheap. Gabriel's home was two story and would have plenty of room for the three of us. In the segments of time between them working, we would bring stuff from our home to Gabriel's, now our new home. We decided that most of his furniture was much nicer than ours, and we simply decided to get rid of the old, crumbling couches and beds we had.

I wondered if I could bear sleeping and lounging on Gabriel's couches and beds, but decided that this is what he would have wanted, and so I settled in peacefully. We didn't own that much, so it was no surprise that we were fully in before too long. Mom finally gave the key back to our landlord, and I hoped never to see the smelly old fat bastard again. He had always been a weird one, and I suspected him to be a pervert, but never wished to actually find out. See ya' never.

The first few days we did the usual paperwork and runs to the post offices and other places where we would need to get our address changed. Mother confirmed that the bank account from Gabriel actually amounted to a half million. I nearly fainted in surprise when I heard the number but was relieved even more. No more would my family struggle with money. The food would always be good now. And I wouldn't be forced to shop at thrift stores, though I think with the habit we have of holding onto money, we might still be living rather cheaply.

"Of course however, the money is technically yours Michael," Mother said. But I obviously had no problem allowing her to take what was needed. I never would.

The one problem I just knew we would run into would be the basement. And sure enough, Mother wondered into there while I was cleaning around. I heard her gasp and spun around, and saw her looking in shock at all the instruments and stations.

"What on earth are these?" She asked. I walked over quickly.

"It's fine Mom. Gabriel showed me around when I started here. He said he used to be a professional fighter," I said, hoping to keep his secret, which I never knew if he wanted out. She looked around for a moment longer.

"Well, we have no need of it. SO let's just-"

"I do," I said, cutting her off. She looked at me in surprise.

"Why do you need all this stuff?" she asked. I sighed.

"Well, I guess you can say that I like to kill time here. Gabriel let me play around with this stuff. It helped me burn off steam after cleaning. He said it was fine with him."

"Well, do you still need it?" she asked. I tried to not say something back and just smiled.

"Yeah it does. It helps me...cope."

She looked at me for a moment before nodding.

"Alright then. Go ahead and keep it as long as you need."

That was close. Thankfully she turned and left and I continued maintenance on the equipment, hoping to get some practice in before bed. It had been while before I threw the knives...

After dinner I threw for some time. And to my pleasant surprise, the knives were hitting the bulls-eye every single time. I thought I could hear Gabriel's voice giving me instruction, but I shut it out for now. Hearing his voice, even in my mind, would be too soon. For now at least. I went through the motions of the punches and kicks, before deciding to hit the sack.

That night I had a dream. I was in an alley. It was night, and a pouring rain pelted me. Before me was a shadow. Pure black shadow. I felt this thing had great power to it, and somehow that it needed to be stopped at all costs.

We fought. Me and this shadow. We traded blows and kicks, and despite blocking and deflecting many of the attacks, every one that connected felt so real, so painful. I felt the fury and adrenaline of the battle increase as we continued, and eventually it became a standoff. This being, whatever it was, was fighting in the exact same style as I. It felt as if I were fighting myself in some way. I grit my teeth and assumed a fighting stance, the same as Gabriel had taught me. Then the figure stepped forward toward me, and as if it stepped into the moonlight, its face came into view.

My own eyes gazed back into me, dark and soulless. I found myself grinning at me with a wide, evil grin that I felt I couldn't possibly do. I felt the icy grip of fear grip my heart.

"What's the matter?" I heard my own voice ask, though it felt tinted with an evil hiss. "Afraid of something?"

I opened my mouth and struggled for words. My body suddenly felt very weak, as though made of concrete. Before me, my other let out a chuckle, and a dark sounding one at that. Not like what would expect from something evil, but somehow deeper, and darker than merely evil.

"You're afraid. Like a helpless child. But think about it Michael. We have power now. The whole world can burn if we will it. And people will do anything to stop that from happening..."

He stepped closer, almost nose to nose...

"Anything..."

With a start I awoke. My forehead was covered in sweat, and I walked over to the bathroom at a brisk pace. Splashing water on my face, I gazed back at the mirror. What the hell was that dream about? Me fighting some kind of twisted version of myself. That was for sure. But what had it meant that people would do anything to prevent me from burning them alive? Sure, it was a rather bad fate, but why tell myself that?

Was I even capable of something like that? Going around burning alive anyone who displeased me? What kind of person does that? It would have to be someone, no some _thing_ , twisted and cruel. It would have to have been corrupted by its power. And would be little better than the worst humanity has ever produced. And...

Oh god. That was it. That dream was what could happen to me if I let this get out of hand. If allowed whatever it was that was inside me to control me, then the shadow of what I saw is what I would become. That had to be it, right?

I took a deep breath and composed myself. I hadn't lost control over this since I accidentally set something on fire when Gabriel was there, and even as he lay dying, I kept control of my emotions and didn't let it out, though I could feel the urge to burn everything to the ground in my grief.

So no. I made a decision right then and there that whatever had happened to me must have happened for some reason, and now I controlled these powers. It would not be the other way around. I will never allow them to dictate me, or my fate. Nor would I allow anything else to do so. I alone would be the master of my fate. I alone would be the captain of my soul.

I drank a small glass of water and returned to bed, staring up at the ceiling until I felt sleep take me once more into its embrace.

-0-

It had been several days since the dream, and my resolution. Life continued as it had for now, with my Mother seeming to have made a complete transformation. Where she was once permanently marked with the wrinkles of worry, she now shone vibrant. Life had completely turned around for us, all because of a chance meeting in a grocery store robbery.

I kept practicing every chance I got. I don't know what drove me to increase my training. But I guess something in that dream must have triggered something, because the pace of everything I did, from martial arts to physical training in the basement as well, all took a rapid increase. I realized something as I struck the dummy over and over.

 _I need something that fights back..._

I could beat up on dummy's all day. But it wasn't going to improve me in the way I wanted. I needed something that would try at least to fight back. And then the memory of that little girl came to me. The night I had burned a man alive in order to save a little girl he had been trying to grab. And I remembered the way I felt when she thanked me.

It felt good. It felt _right_.

Alright, no trying to hide it from myself anymore. I was honestly thinking of trying to make a difference out there. The powers I had had to have come for some reason. Wait, was I actually believing in a divine plan or something? Maybe not quite. But the fact that I got them as I was trying to die was either sheer dumb luck or something else.

I stopped hitting the dummy and closed my eyes. I thought of Gabriel and his final words to me. Compassion for the weak. The defenseless. Those who cannot fight for themselves. Could I actually be something to them? More than just a boy who robbed at first to support his family? Could I be worthy of...love...in their eyes?

I have seen these streets and neighborhoods. People suffered every day, and nobody did anything to help them. I know, because I was one of those people at one time, despite having a loving family. While groups like the beloved Avengers lived in a high tower and saved the world from aliens and killer robots, the common people suffered acts that would make someone's stomach churn. And those high up couldn't be bothered to do anything about it.

I growled an punched the dummy as hard as I could. My shadowy self was right about one thing, I had power to do something about the world now. Maybe not the "world" yet, but I have to start somewhere. And now all this scum and monsters who roam these streets would have something to fear.

I had made my choice. I sealed it with a final blow to the dummy, sending it tumbling to the ground.

 _Let's get started,_ I thought.

 **And so it begins. Please let me know what you think, and if you like what you see, spread the word. The more nudges I get, the better I can write. Take care.**


	7. Madness Of Humanity

Chapter 7: Madness Of Humanity

I never thought just how brutal this could be...

Sure, TV shows and movies made it look so easy. The hero goes around his city at night and beats up bad guys. They're committing some criminal act, like robbing a store or mugging an innocent bystander, and the hero swoops in and saves the day with a few blows and kicks. Then the grateful citizen smiles and thanks him profusely, while the noble hero simply acknowledges his gratitude and runs off to stop the next evil doer.

But it sure as hell wasn't going that easy for me right now. The last week had been rather hard. Especially for me, a boy who was just starting to get into the whole hero thing, if I could even be called that yet. I still didn't have some kind of cool name or anything. Nothing like "Iron Man" or "Daredevil". What could I even call myself to begin with?

Regardless, my main focus was trying to figure out how I was going to keep doing this. This usual routine I had had wasn't working. Some nameless guy beating them down wouldn't slow these thugs and muggers down.

But in terms of the brutality of it, what one sees on the TV is nothing compared to the real thing...

The first night I was out, my Mother and Chris were asleep, and I pulled my jacket on, covering my head up with the hood. I put on some sunglasses, despite it making it slightly harder to see and making myself look like the usual douche with sunglasses on at night. But it helped hide my face a little bit, so I would tolerate it.

I had been wondering the area for several hours, almost giving up when I heard the sound of fighting. I ran toward the sounds and found several young people, maybe late teens or twenty, beating on an old man. To his credit, the older man was putting on a fight, but he was no match for the young blood.

"Get off me!" he howled, and the attackers redoubled their attack. I only watched for a second before making my presence known.

"Hey assholes!"

They stopped and turned, seeing me facing them with fists clenched at my sides and hopefully looking in the least bit intimidating. Maybe not, since one of them clearly had at least an inch on me and twenty pounds to boot.

"How about you learn to respect your elders," I growled. Hmmm...maybe this wasn't the best way to do it. Maybe I should have said something along the lines of "Stop beating that innocent man this instant you young hooligans!"?

Strike that. That would have been Adam West Batman right there...

One of them grinned at me. I swear I saw a gold tooth.

"And just who the hell are you?" he asked. I grit my teeth. The anger at the unfairness of this was biting me to the bones. If they were men, why not fight the man one on one? But honor was never a criminal trait...

"Someone who is about to shove that gold tooth of yours right down your throat," I replied. He laughed, his friends joining in.

"And just how do you intend to do that?" he asked. I grinned.

"With my foot applied to your jaw. Forcefully..."

His grin was wiped off, and he and his friends forgot the old man, who was on the ground and whimpering in pain as he crawled off to hide. I had to keep these punks attention on me, away from the old man. The leader advanced toward me, his eyes locked on mine as though he thought that scared me.

 _Bitch please..._

Finally he stood before me, looking at me with what I guess was supposed to be some kind of intimidating glare. He growled, as though in annoyance.

"You just don't know when to run along, do ya' little runt?" he asked. I shook my head. He had just made this too easy.

"And you have just given me the best shot I could ask for," I replied. His gaze turned to one confusion, and I quickly explained it to him. With my fist. Applied suddenly and forcefully to his solar plexus. And as the air was knocked out of him, he doubled over, and I followed up on my word about his tooth. My boot kicked out in a perfect arc, right into his jaw. I kept my face neutral as I felt something crack under the boot's force. He was flung back, and ended up on his back, blood flowing out his mouth from his now broken jaw, and sure enough, that gold tooth was gone.

 _Choke on it,_ I thought. Before me, behind the body of their now grounded leader, the rest of the gang looked at me in shock. Then one charged me. Like an idiot. And so I obliged him, though not like an idiot charging right at someone who had just beaten their alpha male down.

I let him come at me with speed, and he threw a clumsy punch with his right arm. I side stepped and grabbed his arm, allowing momentum to carry him for a moment before swinging him along with it, and he went airborne for a moment before meeting the concrete face first. Unlike his friend, he was groaning in pain, but didn't get up. And I didn't even have to throw a single punch or kick for him.

The next one rushed me while his friend whimpered on the ground, and I decided to let him have a few shots. He jabbed at me several times, fueled by anger yes, but not by technique. I almost casually dodged each one, and when he swung his fist in a clumsy left hook, I ducked underneath and gave him a hard knee to his gut, doubling him over like the first. Then I brought my fist down to the base of his skull, dropping him.

I would have expected the last punk to have at least the sense that when three of your friends are beaten by one guy, that you should probably run. But I expected too much from this one. But what I didn't expect was the switchblade. I heard the click and he slashed at me several times, with one slash I admit to being a little too close to my stomach for comfort. But when he tried a stabbing motion, I grabbed his arm and locked it, giving it hard twist. I felt the crack and heard him scream in pain, dropping the knife.

I then finished him with an right elbow to the face, and he fell back, still crying and holding his broken arm. I paid him no heed and surveyed the group, looking for any sign of recovery. But they were either unconscious or on the ground, whimpering in pain, and I felt my breathe slightly harder than usual. But I assume this to be the excitement of my first good deed. I looked up to see if the old man was still nearby.

He wasn't. Granted, I would have fled the coop too, but even a thank you would have been appreciated. No matter, to run was probably the smart thing. And since most people would have called the police by now, I assumed that was what he had done and started my way back home at a brisk jog, hoping to get back before anyone awoke for anything.

When I opened the door, I was grateful that no one was awake, no one to confront me for being out so late at night. I made my way to my room and removed the jacket and sunglasses, changing into some more comfortable clothes. Then I sat back on the bed, letting my mind play back my scrape in my head.

It was weird, feeling their bones and tendons break and twist. In all my fights with Gabriel, he had never actually hurt me too badly, and I had tried to not hurt him badly, though he never gave me much of a chance with his skill. I felt my fingers twitch at the memory of the snapping tendons and bones. It was an interesting sensation, I did feel.

That was the first time. The next few nights were uneventful, with nothing at all that I could find. I wasn't yet breaking down doors to end domestic violence. I didn't have a police scanner or anything, so I never knew what was going on outside of what I could hear or stumble across. I wasn't that kind of hero, not yet at least. And I still didn't know if I ever would be. Maybe I was destined to just be a small timer.

Then the night came when I was near a drug store, and as I was walking by on the road near it, I saw several people run out hastily, one of them crying in what seemed to be fear. I stopped for a moment and stared, wondering if something really bad had gone down. Then I scolded myself for thinking otherwise, and slowly mad my way to the side of the building, avoiding the lights of the front windows.

Before I got a visual of the inside, I heard a gunshot. My adrenaline spiked and my fists clenched, but I remained out of sight, still slowly approaching the front windows from the side. When I reached them, I peeked around and saw the assailant. He had a black ski mask, leather jacket, and was holding a smoking gun toward the woman at the counter, who had her hands up and was shaking in fear.

He snarled something toward the woman, which I presumed was an order to empty the register, She obeyed and began her task with shaking hands, She dropped several bills and the man pistol whipped the counter in frustrated annoyance, causing her to whimper in fright.

"Hurry up lady! I ain't got all night!"

"I...I'm...I'm sorry..." she blubbered. The man growled in annoyance.

"You keep moving this slow I'll just cap you and do it myself!"

"No! No please-"

"Shut up!"

She doubled her efforts and continued with the money, now full blown crying in terror. I knew that feeling, being so scared that you can't function. But now I had the power to do something about this.

The thought crossed my mind that this was me months ago robbing stores. And now, the tables have turned. I focused my gaze on his weapon, mentally making it become hotter and hotter. The man had gloves on so he didn't seem to notice at first, but eventually he looked down at his weapon, in what I think was a confused expression.

"What the hell?" he muttered. Then the pistol became red hot, and he gave a cry of pain, dropping the weapon. I was grateful that I didn't make the power explode, that could have been bad. When his weapon was on the ground, I made my move, swiftly running up to the door and opening it, slipping inside. The man turned to face me, and I met his gaze.

"What the? What the hell are you doing?" he asked, as though he were surprised someone had walked into the store when there was clearly a robbery in progress. But hey, that was me now. I cocked my head to the side.

"Making sure you never do this again," I replied, keeping my voice slightly off to throw him off. He looked at me in another strange way, as though he wasn't sure he knew what I meant by that. So I demonstrated.

I charged forward and braced myself. I leaped up and kicked him hard in the chest, one of the advanced stuff Gabriel had taught me not long before. This caught him off guard, and the kick sent him back, right onto his ass and then back. Before he could get up, I ran up and stomped kicked him hard in the shoulder area, feeling the arm pop out of its socket. He gave a cry of pain and I grabbed his wrist, twisting it hard, feeling the snap. He shrieked in agony and grasped his now broken wrist. I gave him a moment, letting him feel the pain.

Then I ended the fight with a kick to his face, not quite hard enough to seriously injure, but enough to break his nose and send him into the black void. He lay there, bleeding out and I moved him on his side to let the blood ooze out and not make drown in it. I looked down at his body and grunted.

"I hope you learned your lesson..."

I heard a sound and turned to find the woman behind the counter standing near the door, looking at me in shock. I nodded toward her.

"Have you called anyone yet?" I asked. She shook her head. "Go ahead and call the cops. And an ambulance. Someone has to take this scumbag to a hospital."

I began to walk toward the door, the woman flinching slightly away from me. I didn't honestly blame her, since my reaction would have probably been the same. As I opened the door I heard her speak.

"Wait..."

I turned to face her. "Did you do that? Make his gun red hot?"

I debated answering her. Did I really want to give that away right now? Would the word spread about my ability? But maybe that would make my job easier. Building a reputation tended to make things easier if it made them afraid of me. Why not start now?

"Yes," I replied, keeping my voice altered with a slightly hoarse tone. She nodded.

"Well, whatever it is...thank you."

I nodded, and stepped out. I stayed nearby bin the shadows, and eventually saw the cop cars and ambulance pull up. Then I retreated back toward my home, a small smile one my face. Gratitude, even a simple thank you, seemed to really lighten up my nights.

Maybe I _could_ be that hero...

-0-

I was getting back up from the basement, having gone through my usual drills and practices, when the news came on about the robbery foiled. I looked at the TV, Mom and Chris in a different room, and heard the reporter talking about how a citizen had broken up a robbery, and taken down the robber with nothing more than physical attacks. I grinned when the casters talked about what this means.

"So, would you say that this means that we have yet another vigilante roaming the streets?" the female asked. He co-worker, a middle aged man in a typical suit and tie, nodded.

"It would seem so. My thought is if this trend is going to continue."

"What do you mean?" the female asked. The man placed his hands on his desk.

"Let's think about it for a moment. We have laws for a reason. And I have nothing against a citizen helping to ensure a safer world for all of us. But when we get these vigilantes going out every night, they are taking the law into their own hands. And that can be dangerous."

I growled. More dangerous? The guy with the gun to a woman's head seemed a helluva lot more dangerous than me at that moment!

Footage of the robbery showed. Strangely, they didn't show him throw down his gun, but simply started the reel with me running into frame and kicking him to the ground, followed by the wrist break. I saw myself looking upon him for a moment and delivering the final kick, putting him down for good. And then I saw myself turn, and gave a sigh of relief that the hood and sunglasses masked my appearance pretty good. All you could tell was that I was white, and that was pretty much about it.

"Well, regardless of his motivations, I for one am grateful that this man was willing to jump in and defend that woman's life. So wherever he is, I thank him for being a good example."

The man simply nodded and the show cut to commercial. I took it in for a few minutes, and smiled.

-0-

It was like the usual nights, with me patrolling around seeing if I could find anyone or anything needing my newly acquired skill set. I walked briskly, with a queit grace, listening hard for anything that sounded out of the ordinary. It just so happened that I passed near the old apartment building.

I gazed at my former home, and for some reason, felt a sense of sentimentality come over me. I walked over and entered the lobby area, finding it empty. I rolled my eyes, as the attendant for the lobby was usually out at this time, when he should have been manning his post. But whatever, so I began to walk up to my old dwelling.

As I was passing by, I made note of the numbers of old acquaintances that we knew, wondering if they still occupied these dark, grim rooms. This place really seemed to just leech the happy out of you, no matter how warm and cheery Mom tried to make it. It made me wonder just how far she had gone for us.

I didn't have a key for my old apartment, so I picked the lock, a skill I learned from my former group. I guess it must have not been all for waste, running with them and learning a few things that might come in handy in the future. I entered and gazed around the now barren rooms, noting the dust that had gathered in our time away.

I entered my room and noticed that there were still some small scorch marks on the walls from my first days with this new ability. I found myself chuckling quietly as I remembered freaking out about it, now seeming to be such a small thing. I knew I had much better control over it now, though I always tried to be as careful as possible with it. I also chuckled at the memory of me standing naked in the middle of my room with the temperature down low, finding that I had the ability to keep myself warm even naked in the cold. Now that was something that could be useful.

I basked in the warm memories, and the bad ones, noting that this was the room where I had tried to die, and experience that weird shit with the freaky cocoon thing, and emerged with the ability to make things catch fire, though I still wasn't sure if that was the full extent of what I could do. I hadn't really experimented with it all that much, since I never had the environment for it, and to be honest, I was afraid of what could happen if I went too far with it.

I took a deep breath and exited the room noting that everything was indeed bare, and now it was just another dark apartment in a collection. I exited the apartment and began to make my way down the hall. That's when I heard it. A whimpering and crying.

I stopped and listened for a moment. Yes, it was indeed crying, a female by the sound of it, and it was coming from an apartment several doors down. I stopped at the door and listened hard, though if I didn't hear anything other than the crying, I wasn't going to interfere. I knew that I would not want someone to barge in on my moments of weakness, and would respect hers. But it was the next sound that caught me to the possibility that something was wrong.

A male voice, one that sounded familiar, was speaking. He wasn't yelling loudly at the moment, but seemed to be speaking as though he was taking great sensual pleasure in something, and I could only guess, from the words I could make out, it was sex. His breathe was coming in deep, and I heard the w0oman yelp and say something, and his voice gruffly telling her to be "nice and quiet" and that if she complied, then it would be "over soon."

Oh hell no...

Still I held back. I didn't know what I would indeed be walking into, despite hearing the sounds. For all I knew, this could be completely consensual, a role play. Unless I had something solid, then I didn't want to barge in and make a scene of beating the guy senseless or setting him on fire. After getting the praise of the news, I didn't want to compromise myself in any way, and though I knew that at the core I didn't honestly care what others would have thought of me, I knew that getting good with the people always helped. Look at the praise heaped on that "Daredevil" character for taking down the Kingpin. That was something I could get behind.

And then I heard her let out a cry, and heard the man curse. Then I heard a sharp slapping sound and the woman let out a cry. And that was when my mind shut down and my training began. My foot connected with the door above the door handle. The door busted open with a crash, and I marched in at a brisk pace, ready to attack the moment I saw the man. I heard a string of curses from a bedroom on my left as I entered and elbowed the door open, slamming it against the inside wall. I kept my face composed as I saw the sight before me, but my body tensed.

On the side of the bed, was the woman. She was naked and bent over the bed, in a very submissive position. And behind her was my old Land lord, the one who I always suspected of being a pervert. He was naked as well, and his overweight body was not a pleasant sight to behold.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" he screamed, as he rose up and tried to pull on his pants, the woman still crying and holding tightly to the bed sheets. I didn't let him get his pants on. A rage filled me as I charged forward while he was still bent over struggling with his pants, and I let him have the strongest uppercut I could manage. My gloves absorbed most of the shock of the blow I gave, and he was forced back, exposing his neck. Immediately after launching my punch, I jabbed my hand forward, aiming and connecting with his neck. Moving smoothly from one move into the next, just as I had been taught.

He let out cries of pain and I let out a growl of anger, and when I had him down on the ground, I grabbed one of his wrists, and snapped it right there. He screamed and nearby, the woman he had been forcing himself on was curled up in the corner, covering herself with one of the blankets. This time I didn't stop attacking, but brought my boot down at just the right angle on his knee, and felt it snap underneath the force. I didn't even hear his cries of agony, but kicked him several times in the gut, cutting his cries off, forcing the air from his lungs.

Then, and only then did I step back and observe my handiwork. He lay at a weird angle, with a wrist and knee broke and doubled over from the blows. I was panting slightly, but my anger toward him caused my fatigue to lessen, ready to deliver more punishment if needed. And I so desperately wanted to break him further. And then wrap my hands around his fat neck, seeing the life slowly squeeze out of him like he had squeezed the joy out of so many in his capacity as a landlord.

But in the end, I held back. Even now, the lessons were upheld. He finally opened his eyes, looking at me through tears of pain. "What...what...what do you...want?" he managed to sputter out. I looked down on him with a cold expression, refusing to show any sign of mercy or compassion for this one. The fact that I had not killed him was mercy enough.

"To be honest, I want you to die in the most horrible way. And then get raped by the demons of Hell for however long they want you. But no, I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to let the cops take you and put you in some dark cell. Where the inmates can have you in the shower every single night. That's the closest I suppose I'll get."

And with that, I leaned forward and punched him, making his lights go out. I didn't even feel anything as I looked at his twisted and naked body, and then spat upon him. I heard a scuffling behind me and saw the woman was still in the corner, still looking at me with fear in her eyes. I slowly turned and walked several feet toward her, with her flinching away like a frightened animal. I stopped and raised my hands in what I hoped was a non-threatening gesture.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not him," I told her. She swallowed and nodded, so I continued. I knelt down and looked at her on her level. "Can you walk?" I asked. She nodded. I pointed toward the street. "Then get dressed and stay out of this place. Call for the cops and don't come back until they take him out of here."

I stood up and began to walk away. I heard her call out and turned back to face her.

"What about him?" she asked, pointing toward the old landlord. I shook my head.

"Don't worry. He's out cold. And if he knows what's good for him, he'll stay that way."

And then I left her to get changed, and to get myself back home. As I made my way back, I thought back to the fact that this was the first time I had seen that sort of thing, rape. Robbery was one thing. That was money. But that was forcing yourself on another human. Something about that seemed to be a whole new level then a small time store hold up. To my surprise, I found myself slightly shaking, though through force of will I shut it down. I will not cower, not in public or in private.

-0-

The big one was several weeks later, the one that truly showed me just how wrong humanity could be in the head. It had been a quiet night, with only a guy trying to rip off an ATM the only catch. But all that changed when several police vehicles sped past me, lights and sirens blazing. I stopped and watched them leave, before seeing that they were driving like hell into a residential area. Since I had nothing else that night, I figured it would be best to see what was going on.

I entered the neighborhood where they went and noticed already that a small crowd was forming, the cars making a barrier to them. They seemed focused on one particular house, a small, rather cozy looking in the middle of the row of homes. Police were forcing everyone back while several where taking cover behind their vehicles, pointing their firearms at the house. I felt a sort of child crawl up my spine when I realized what was going down, just from the response I was seeing.

This had to be a hostage situation. And if I knew anything, it was that those situations resulted in either a hostage dying from the one holding them up, or from cop who couldn't be bothered to know his target. I felt my fists tighten as I made my way to the row of bystanders watching what was happening, just as a news crew was filing out of their van. I placed myself to be able to hear the broadcast, hoping for confirmation as to what was truly going on.

The reporter, the typical blonde model looking type, tapped her foot impatiently as her cameraman monkeyed with his piece. Finally he held it up and gave her the thumbs up, which I assumed was a signal for live. Finally, she began her report.

"We are live in front of the scene where a 911 call made from a frightened husband has indicated that his wife has gone insane, and is now threatening both him and their children's lives. From what we have gathered, she attacked him with a knife and he has locked away in a closet at the moment, with the children being unaccounted for. Police are on the scene, though we do not know what their plans are at this time."

I felt a chill run through me at the mention that they didn't have a plan. People were in there, possibly hurt or worse because of their own mother, and they didn't know what they were going to do? I looked around and noticed that everyone's attention was focused on the front of the house. The though entered my head and I acted on it before I even knew what I was doing.

I went down the street several houses and vaulted over their fence, finding no dog or anyone in the back. I ran across their yard to the next, and the next, until I was finally at the fence of the house in question. There were still no law enforcement or bystanders in the back, and I vaulted over the fence, crouching low to try and avoid detection through the windows. I made my way to the back door and tried it, just to see. No luck, it was locked as expected.

I gazed at the lock and focused, thinking about it melting away, imagining it in my mind, the insides burning away to ashes. Sure enough, the lock became extremely hot and glowed red for a moment before I saw it begin to melt before my eyes, oozing down the door. When it was gone, I tried to push the door open, and it swung slowly open for me. I looked around a final time to see if anyone had spotted me. So far, so good, though I did hear a helicopter in the distance, and ducked inside just in case it was heading this way.

Inside the house, it was dark. I didn't dare try to turn on a light, knowing that would be a dead giveaway, and might lead to a knife wielding bitch coming at me from nowhere. So I fell back on the lessons Gabriel taught me, feeling my way around very slowly, and listening for even the slightest disturbance. The area seemed empty, and I could make out some details as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. The kitchen was sort of what one would expect, small and rather clean. I noticed a rack of knives and just like I expected from that news report, one of the knives, what seemed to be a rather large one judging from the others, was missing. I gulped slightly. This could easily go the way of a slasher flick if I wasn't careful.

A sound. I stopped in my tracks and focused my ears to pick out the distant disturbance. Sure enough, there was a banging coming from somewhere deeper in the house, though I didn't know from where exactly. I made my way down what seemed to be a dark side hallway, toward what I could make out to be an open door at the end. I pushed the door open to find, with the moonlight coming in through the window, a master bedroom, with a bathroom connected to the corner. And I heard the same banging coming from the closet, which seemed barricaded with a chair, with muffled yells now being heard as well. I made my way over to the closet and removed the chair that was jamming it. I opened the door and stifled my gasp of shock.

A man fell out of the closet, and against my legs. I stopped immediately and caught him, laying him against the ground. He seemed to be in his early thirties, and a bloody wound had been inflicted to his stomach, soaking the front of his shirt with blood. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and I think that delirium had taken its toll, with a healthy dose of fear.

"She's lost it! She's insane! The kids! The kids!" he began to scream. I covered his mouth for a moment, trying to stifle the cries, since I didn't want whoever stabbed him to come running back with the pointy implement. After a moment he groaned and I let his mouth go, and he reached up and grasped my leg.

"Please, she has our kids in the basement! I..I don't know what she's gonna do! I told her I was sorry! What else could I say! What is she gonna do to our kids!?" he began to yell and whimper. That icy chill came over me, but I forced myself to gently lay him down. Leaving him for a moment, I grabbed several pillowcases and dumped the pillows out. I placed them on his wound, and then placed his own hands over it.

"Keep pressure on your wound until the medics get here. I'll get down there and try to stop her," I said, adopting my usual gruff "undercover" voice. He gave me a final grip on the arm and went to holding pressure on his wounds, as I stood up and made my way down the hall. I tried several doors before opening one that led down into darkness, only this time, I could tell there was a light on somewhere down there. I slowly made my way down the steps, taking care to try and avoid any squeakiness from the steps.

The basement was L shaped, and the light was coming from around a corner. I made my way along the wall, and stopped at the edge, listening. I heard someone, a female by the sound of it, mumbling and giggling to herself. The fact that the mother could be laughing to herself in this case was the last straw. I felt a shock of worry for the kids, and turned the corner, ready for what she might have in store.

She was sitting in an old rocking chair in front of a work bench, the light coming from a single naked light bulb above it. I could tell she had blonde hair, and was holding something in her hands, cradling it like a child. I swallowed hard and began to walk toward her as quietly as possible, intending to knock her out if I could get close enough. As I made my way closer, I could tell some of what she was muttering. Things about betrayal and getting even, and of "taking back my gift". I hoped that that last one didn't mean what I was thinking she meant. If it did...

Finally, I was right behind her and was about to strike when I guess she must have sensed me somehow. She suddenly became very quiet for a second, and then whirled around, her arm extended. And I jumped back as hard as I could, for something sharp and red was in her hand as she swung. And I already knew that it was the knife missing from the kitchen, which she most likely used to stab her husband.

She lunged forward and tried to stab me, but I sidestepped and grabbed her wrist, and gave it a twist, forcing her hand to drop the knife. But this woman was clearly out of her mind for sure, because she grabbed me with her other hand, ignoring the pain she should be feeling in her wrist, and bragged a handful of my shirt, trying to pull me down. I braced my feet and grabbed her other wrist with my other hand, and swept my leg under he's sending her onto her back. I then stepped back as she let out a screech and started to get up. I immediately stepped forward and put my boot on her chest, pressing down harder than usual, as she was clawing at me to try an get back up.

"Chill the hell out lady!" I yelled. "I'm not here to hurt you. Stop this!"

But you clearly can't reason with someone crazy. Whatever had happened to her had driven her mad with anger or something, because she just kept screeching and clawing at my boot. I growled and leaned down giving her a light punch to the forehead, and it seemed to knock her out of the crazed stupor for a moment.

"Where are your children? What have you done!?" I asked, and the look she gave me made my blood run cold. She was smiling at me with wicked grin, her eyes flashing.

"Children are a gift. And he betrayed me," she said in a cheerful tone. "So I took his gift away. I gave them back to where they came from..."

Oh my god...she didn't mean...

"Where are they!?" I screamed. She laughed.

"The bathroom. Where I washed them every night. Where I washed this world's sin away from them. And now where I released them..."

I drove my fist again into her face, this time with full intention of knocking her out. Her eyes rolled back and she was out cold, and my boot was lifted from her chest, and with that, I sprinted back upstairs, running toward the first floor, looking for a bathroom. I found it in the first floor hallway, and kicked the door aside.

The bathroom was blue tinted, with a rug along the base of the toilet. The shower curtain was closed and I slowly walked over to it, reaching forward. I just hoped that...

"My God..."

The sight before me in the tub was not one you forget easily. The tub was filled, and it looked as though water had splashed all over, as though they had been struggling fiercely before they were gone. And the children were indeed gone. For lying face down in the water, was them. They couldn't have been more than a few years old, and I felt my whole body go into shock at the sight. The children weren't moving...

I found myself and reached forward, taking each one's shoulder in my hand and lifted their heads above the water. Their eyes were blank and lightless, and I opened my mouth in shock. There was no more trying to deny it. This woman, in whatever crazed episode she was having, had just drowned them.

She had drowned her own children...

The sight before me made me start to gag, and I turned away, almost bumping into the woman. With a start I jumped back and assumed a defensive posture, as she had retrieved her knife, but was not raising it toward me, only looking at me with a smile. My fists clenched, this time in cold rage.

"You killed them...you killed your own children!"

"I gave them back to God. My husband has betrayed us, and he didn't deserve them. So I just gave them back. And he also doesn't deserve me. So now, I'm going to go back..."

"What the hell do you mean?" I asked, though I had a bad feeling I already knew. She laughed.

"And now we are one happy family..."

With that, she raised the knife to her throat and sliced across, the red oozing down her chest. My mouth opened in shock of its own accord, and I could do nothing but watch as she laughed, the voice turning into a wet gurgle, and she fell to the ground, the hand releasing the knife. I stood there in shock for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.

What I was too late to stop...

The events kept replaying in my mind, over and over as I stood there, knowing that I should be getting the hell out of there, but unable to move. Why did she do this? Her children were innocent. Why would she drown them just because her husband must have cheated on her? Then I realized that the husband was still in his room, last time I had seen him. I finally broke out of my stupor and ran back to the bedroom, where I found him.

Apparently, she had finished him off before coming to me, since his own throat was slit in the same fashion she had done to herself. Blood coated the carpet around the body, and punched the wall in a rage. I was too late! I was too late to stop it!

 _BAM!_

I jumped when I heard it. The front door being slammed by something hard. Then I remembered that the police were just starting to gather outside when I entered, but by now they should have been assembled in force. I cursed myself for losing track of that and ran back toward the back door, wondering if they were covering that as well. I saw human like shapes through the glass and swore harder. They were covering the back as well.

So I would need a distraction, something to get their attention off of me. And so I thought for a second before noting that I was the only one alive in the house now. There was nobody else. And so would anyone care if I started a small fire? Maybe just enough to get them back and call the fire department, and let me make my escape. I didn't think I burned, or at least I hoped I don't. If I could set things on fire, hopefully I could not catch on fire myself.

I walked over to the bedroom, and focused on the carpet, near the body. Sure enough, a lick of flame sprouted out, and soon began to build. I nodded toward the body of the father, silently wishing him well wherever he went, despite his infidelity. No one should have to go through that. And then turned back toward the hallway bathroom, where the mother lay in a patch of blood, her offspring dead in the tub. I did the same there, not acknowledging he mother's body this time.

The banging stopped as I presume that the cops noticed that the home was on fire and I made my way back to the back door, finding the shapes gone. I took a deep breath and made sure I was ready to run, just in case they spotted me, which I sort of figured they might. I didn't see them backing off too far. I took a deep breath and opened the door, having melted the lock anyway. I looked around and didn't see anybody, so I bolted toward the fence line to the other property behind them.

"Hey you! Stop!" I heard a voice.

Well shit. I guess it was too good to be true, but they really didn't go that far away. I risked a glance back and saw several starting to chase after me, and I knew I had to cover myself somehow. I looked at the grass in front of them, and waved my hand in a slicing motion, focusing on that grass. As I hoped, a fire spread across in the same motion, and I heard cries of surprise from the officers.

I kept sprinting until I was at the fence, then vaulted over, not slowing down until I was several backyards away. I ducked down in some bushes, and watched my handiwork, pleased to see that the fire wasn't too bad, and heard the fire trucks approaching now. I closed my eyes and took some breathes to compose myself, then slipped out and found my way back onto the street. I put my hands in my pockets and kept my head down, and just walked toward my home.

My mind was going a mile a minute. The image of those kids floating face down in the bathtub, dead by their mother's hand. Someone they trusted and loved. And she had most likely taken advantage of them telling them they were going to take a bath. And maybe they happily complied, and got in, not suspecting what was about to happen. Why would they? She was their mother. She wouldn't do anything to hurt them. And so one could imagine their shock and terror as their Mother held their heads beneath the water, not letting them up to breathe, panicking as their life was washed away.

I felt my fists tighten involuntarily at the thought. What the _fuck_...

What the hell was wrong with humanity? Why could this happen. _How_ could this happen. Something like that was unnatural, shouldn't be possible. And yet I had seen the evidence before my eyes. I could no more deny it then to deny that woman who was killed all those months ago in front of me. Their own goddamn mother had killed them...and for what?

Because her husband cheated on her. Not that I had too much sympathy for the father here, since he did swear an oath to be loyal and broke it, but still, it wasn't like he was killed his own children. Are some people just so mentally fragile that they would snap and commit such an atrocity? Are we really that kind of species? How many of us are just bombs waiting to explode? Wait, maybe I didn't want an answer to that question. I tried to kill myself some time ago. There is a good chance that I am one of those people.

I growled with the sensation those thoughts brought. _Are we even worth saving_ , I thought. After seeing this, how much worse could it get? But I decided to let that thought drop, remembering what Gabriel had taught me. Everyone could be redeemed. If I could come back from the darkness, even just a little, then so could someone else. Unless they really were just gone, like I strongly thought that woman was now.

And before I finally reached home, still clouded by all these thoughts and the shock of the experience, the thought still lingered in my head. Could I fall like that? And if I did, with abilities like these, who would be there to bring me back? Or to put me down if need be?

I finally was up to my door and slowly opened it, breathing a sigh of relief that nobody was awake. I walked to my room and closed the door behind me, taking off my jacket and most of my clothes. I sat on the bed, bathed in darkness, and found myself staring out in the blackness, the deep dark abyss.

And realized that the abyss was staring right back into me...

-0-

It had been several nights since the incident, and I never bothered to check the news about it. I didn't want to relive those events all over again. People were sick. Sick in the head. And I just wanted to move on and try to keep the promise I made. So I went out the next night, and the next.

One night, as I was coming back, this time with my knuckles sore from dealing with a punk trying to rip off a young couple, I turned on the light in my room, and jumped halfway out of my skin. Sitting on my bed, in her nightclothes, was Mom. She looked up at me when the light came on, and stared at me with a neutral, inquisitive look.

"Where are you going?" she asked. I opened my mouth to reply, cursing myself for not thinking this through, knowing the possibility that it could happen. How could I have been so short sighted? But now there was nothing that could be done but to try to think of something on the fly. But with the way she startled me, my mind was playing bird chirps.

"I know you've been going out at night, Michael," she said, her voice deadly calm. "And I've seen the signs that you're doing this you most likely should not be doing. The way you walk and your hands. Have you been fighting lately?"

I was still not finding words. _Think brain! Think goddamnit!_

"It's just...it's-" she cut me off by suddenly rising up and striding toward me. She reached forward and grabbed my hand, running her fingers down the knuckles, causing me to slightly wince. I knew I needed to start wearing gloves, and fully intended to. But for now, there was indeed some pain in my knuckles, and she clearly had seen the bruises, despite my best efforts. Her face showed concern for a moment, before resuming an accusatory look.

"For god's sake Michael. Please, just tell me..."

I realized that I was screwed at this point. That I really didn't have a valid reason that I could share. So I did the only thing I could think of to somehow try and get her off my back. And I new there was little chance, but I had to try.

"I...can't tell you."

She closed her eyes tightly, and took a deep breathe. Then she opened them and stared into my eyes, and I swear there was a tear in there. _Oh hell. She's going for the 'scared to tears 'mother move..._

"Michael, I don't know what's going on, but you scaring me," she said. Yeah, she was going to try to guilt me into it. "Please, just tell me what's going on, and let the chips fall where they may."

How do you explain that you have the ability to set things on fire? That it even goes as far as making people burn up from the inside. Just how would you go about that, especially to the woman who gave birth to you, raised you when your father was dead, and was still pushing everything she could to make sure you were alright, safe? And that you were going outside that bubble, to try and give other's a taste of safety, of security. And that involved confrontation with rather unsavory characters. Confrontations that could result in your death, despite your vow to not do the same to them.

"Mom...I'm sorry. But it was just this one time..."

"I know you've been going out more than that Michael. Please don't assume I'm just being crazy. I _know_."

I closed my eyes and gave her a slight nod. I had to keep this act up.

"Mom, just listen to me. I have been going out yes. But you know me. I'm just a night owl by nature. I got into one fight recently, that's all. Some punk tried to pull something with me. He lost, and I went right home. That's all."

"And you didn't report anything to the police?" she asked. _Oh Mother, do you even know how the police operate? Anything I tell them would be twisted back to mean that I'm the guilty one. So no, I didn't report a damn thing. And I never will..._

"Didn't have to. The guy was pretty messed up. So I am positive he learned his lesson."

"I'm having a hard time believing that all this was just one fight," she said, rubbing my sore knuckles, though gently this time. _Yeah, and I'm having a hard time trying to make you believe this. Please mom, it's for the best._

She sighed and looked at the ground for a moment, and I could tell she was hurt. And I hated lying to her. But I just couldn't bring this down on her. Things like this, getting powers and fighting crime and evil, it brought attention that she didn't need. Which is why I was careful to make sure I hid my identity as much as possible. I might be called stupid for doing it with her still in my life, but it was something I had to do. Because I made a promise to a friend who saved me more than I thought, and Because there was no one else here that could.

That was just the kind of person I suppose I have become. And I knew Mother would be hard pressed to accept it at all. So for now at least, she needed t be out of the loop, even if that loop only included me at the moment. So I did the deed. I lied through my teeth. I hoped this wouldn't stab me in the back later.

"Alright..alright..as long as you're staying safe...I'll be content. Just...try to be more careful in the future, will you?"

"I will Mom. I promise."

She walked around me to the door, turning back to look at me one last time.

"Goodnight Michael. I love you."

"Love you too, Mom".

She closed the door. I breathed a sigh of relief. But I hated it. I hated lying to her. And I could tell she probably wasn't buying that story. Hell, I wouldn't have bought it in a thousand years. But she allowed me my privacy I suppose.

I ran my hand through my hair. I thought I had seen the limit when a woman cut her own throat in front of me after killing her children, but to my surprise, having to mislead your loved ones was far worse. I found myself preferring to deal with crazed thugs and homicidal, children killing mothers than to deal with this.

I stripped off my gear and sat on the bed, finding myself doing the usual brooding routine. After a few minutes, I laid down and closed my eyes. And I hoped with all my might that the efforts I was going to would pay off in the end. Somehow. Someway...

-0-

I found him several weeks after that. He was walking down a street, his hands in his pocket and a coat over his head. But I had caught a glimpse of his face, and I knew him. I knew him all too well. I would never forget him, no matter how long I lived on this Earth. Because it was him in a way that helped make me what I now was.

Santos. _I found you, you murderous son of a bitch..._

I spotted him a few minutes ago, and I began to tail him since, making sure I kept as inconspicuous as possible. Making sure my distance was kept. Making sure that I didn't burn him up with the intensity of the glare I was giving him behind my sunglasses. And to be honest, I started carrying some knives I had taken off some punks some days earlier. And I had a grip on one of the handles right now, ready to stab or throw it right into his murderous heart the moment I thought I might be clear.

The same time I was pondering killing him, the promise made to Gabriel went through my head. But this was different, wasn't it? He was a full blown murderer, and who knows if he's killed anyone else. This may be my shot to take him out permanently. So I had to take it, right?

At the same time, I never killed anyone yet, despite the times I have fought. I knew I might be in that situation soon, but I had hoped to put it off as much as possible. If I killed Santos, would that make me any better than him? Would I have crossed the line again, right after being saved from it?

Granted, I burned that guy up in the park. But that was before I knew anything. I couldn't make that excuse again. So maybe, just maybe, I could avoid crossing that line, and fulfill the promise. _Redemption, Michael._

But could Santos even be redeemed after killing that pregnant woman? To kill is one thing, to kill two lives, especially one being a helpless child is another level. But then again, I knew that there were prominent members of society, like in those weird "Avengers" that have done worse. So maybe there was hope for Santos. But tonight, I wouldn't be showing him any more mercy then most likely not killing him. That would be mercy enough in my book.

 _Most likely not killing him...most likely..._

So I continued to follow him, and he seemed to not catch on. I almost thought this was too easy. Like he might be leading me into a trap or something. But he never once glanced back or made any indication that he knew he was being followed. To be honest, many people were scared of him. And he knew that. So that may be why he moved with such confidence through the streets, maybe safe in the thought that nobody would dare try him.

 _Well, tonight my friend, you are about to learn that there are those who aren't so afraid of you. Not anymore..._

He rounded a corner and I stood at the edge, peeking over, making sure I was still hidden. I watched him enter a dark building, and the door close behind him. I didn't recognize the structure from my time running with him, but I didn't let that stop me. I made my way over and walked around to the other side of the building, wondering if there were a way to enter rather than right through the door he had used. I found an old fire escape ladder, and gripped it tightly, testing it. It felt firm enough, so I began to climb.

Upon reaching the top, I found myself on the roof, with a single door leading in. I walked over and tried it, finding it locked. I debated kicking it in, but decided that even if it was at the top of the building, the noise would still be too much for my comfort. I wanted Santos to be surprised. So I did the same thing I did at the house of the crazed mother. I focused on the lock, willing it to melt, and sure enough, it slowly did, to the point where I was able to slide the door open with much noise at all.

The stairway plunged down into darkness, but I felt along the wall and made sure I stepped carefully, not putting weight down on the foot until I confirmed it was secure. I slowly made my way down in this fashion, making sure I was listening for the slightest sound. An echo of a voice or footsteps. Anything at all to indicate that someone was in the vicinity. However, all was quiet as I made my way down. I reached the bottom at last and found he door partially ajar. I peeked through and found a dark hallway, lit in silver from the moonlight in the windows.

I made my way down the hall, keeping my steps light and deliberately placed. I started to hear voices, though I still couldn't make them out. I kept going forward, until I was near the door. And then I heard the latch start to become undone. It was by the grace of whoever was there that I was near an open door, which I threw myself into before whoever was opening the door started to come in. I stayed in the darkness of the empty room, until they passed me. From the looks of it, it was just one guy, about my height, with the same build. I decided since he was alone to go ahead and take care of him.

He passed by my room and I glanced out behind us, to make sure no one else was coming in. Then I followed him until he was near the end of the hallway, and then struck. I was thankful Gabriel had been convinced to show me this. He had questioned why I would need to know how to do a sleeper hold, and I told him that I might have to drop somebody I didn't want to hurt badly. So he had showed me and now it was coming into play.

My arms wrapped themselves around his neck at just the right places, one hand covering his mouth, and he panicked and squirmed under the surprise attack. But I held firm, not letting a peep come from him, and soon he slumped down, the pressure taking effect. I guided him down, letting him hit the ground softly, and then dragged him into one of the empty rooms in the hallway, stashing him away for safekeeping. I looked back to make sure nobody had walked in during the relatively quiet exchange. So far I was still clear. I mentally high fived myself and continued.

At the door where he had walked in, I pressed my ear to the door and listened. This time I heard nothing, so the group must have moved somewhere else. I reached down and opened the door slowly, and found an empty lobby area, the front closed with a bolt. Some stairs were to my left, and another hallway was in front of me, across the lobby. I listened for any sounds but found none. Taking a guess, I decided to climb the stairs and see if they had gone up the main stairway to some kind of meeting room, or that was my guess.

I climbed the steps, and made it to the second floor. This time I heard the voices again, louder and clearer, but still somewhat distorted. I hugged the wall as I approached the source of the sound, and soon, I heard the voices clearly, and was confident that one of them was Santos's. I felt my fists tighten at the sound, but stayed and listened.

"Do we got the plans for the bank yet?" I heard one of them ask.

"Yeah. We managed to snag the blueprints. So we'll know exactly where to go if we need to stash them," another said. Stash what? Money? People?

"I hope this place's vault is packed. I could use some more spending cash."

"Ya' got plenty of that. What we really want is the big bucks," A voice responded, and I understood it to be Santos.

"Just make sure we are in and out. We don't need slipups."

So, they were planning a bank heist. Hoping to steal the money of others to further themselves. This I could not allow. Despite the fact that I did this for some time, I learned and evolved. They had not. So now it was time to pay the piper. And possibly get even for that life he took, and the baby that died because of it.

Today, that son of a bitch was going to suffer. I'll make sure of it...

I heard them begin to break up the meeting, some jokes and laughs being heard. _Oh someone will be laughing at the end of this. I guarantee it..._

I stepped back and decided that a direct, surprise attack would be in order. Trying ti hang back and pick them off might work, but the chance that at least some of them would get away while I was trying to not get spotted by all of them at once was unacceptable. This had to be dealt with here and now, and I wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste. I stepped back, took several deep breathes to compose myself, and then lashed my foot out, hitting the door in the sweet spot.

The resounding crash was satisfying. So were the cries of surprise from those inside. But I didn't bother wasting time with being satisfied. There was a guy standing near the door, and he whirled around as the door was kicked open, his mouth open in surprise. It didn't last long, as I charged in and kicked him in his chest, sending him backward and on his back. The guy to his left met a different fate. I punched him in the gut and then gave him an uppercut with my other, and he was out for the count.

By this time, they had recovered from their shock, and I heard several gunshots. I ducked low and hoped they would miss, and they did, the shots going wild, due to the surprise. I ran several feet forward and dropped into a roll, coming up right in the face of one of them. I brought my head forward as I came up, head-butting him in the face, breaking his nose and sending him stumbling. I grabbed his arm and threw him over my shoulder, slamming him down, my rage and adrenaline giving me more than my usual strength. I punched him and he was out as well.

Two left. Santos and some random guy, who instead of trying to shoot me, ran forward and tried to hit me. I easily sidestepped the punch, and wrapped my leg around his, sending him down. Then I gave him a kick to the gut, and then another, until I was sure he wasn't getting up anytime soon. Then I turned to see Santos pointing his pistol at me, actually being smart enough to stand back while he did it.

"Alright, that's it. I don't know who the fuck you are, but back the hell off right now!" he shouted. I stood up straight, not saying a word, letting him shake. I knew there was a gun pointed at me, but all I saw was a murderer shaking in his boots. I grinned with delight, and he cocked the hammer back.

"I'm serious man! Back off!"

"So am I..." I growled back. He had a flash of fear on his face. I saw his finger tremble on the trigger, and decided to relieve him of his weapon, with something besides my body. I noticed he was wearing a rather expensive coat, and figured he could use a makeover with his wardrobe. Something...hot.

So I focused on the arm with the pistol, and imagined it bursting into flames, spreading over his arm. His jacket soon began to smoke, and he looked at it with confusion. "What the hell-"

With a flash, his jacket arm caught flame. He screamed in shock and pain, and the gun dropped from his hand. He clawed at his jacket, throwing it off him, leaving it to burn on the ground. I was satisfied to see his arm red with burns, and he looked at me again. What was once fear was now terror. He began to slowly back up. I in turn began to slowly approach him.

"What the hell are you!?" he cried, starting to back away.

"Santos...you're a murderer..."

"How do you know!" he challenged. I grinned. He couldn't tell who I was due to my hood and shades. Good.

"You killed a woman nearly a year ago. Did you know she had a child? And that she watched her die?" I said again in a low, threatening hiss. My mind played back the events of that night, but this time, I didn't feel the sorrow. Only the rush of vengeance. Santos's mind was spinning, and he gave me a look of confusion mixed with fear.

"How do you know about that!?" he demanded. I growled at him.

"I have my ways. That isn't your biggest concern. Your biggest concern is what I am going to do to you..."

"Hey man, take it easy-"

" _I am taking it easy, you son of a bitch!"_ I snarled, causing him to let out a whimper. Good, he was trembling. I wanted him to feel the fear of death, his judgment day coming with every second I had with him. I was going to savor this moment. I took a step toward him, and he backed to the wall completely.

"Please...don't kill me..." he whimpered. I felt a surge of disgust, knowing what he did without remorse, what he may have done that I didn't know about, and what he may do if I let him go tonight. I stopped approaching him, and fixed my gaze upon him, focusing on his heart.

"I'm going to see if you have a heart after all Santos. If you feel a hard burning sensation in your chest, then we'll know you do..."

"What do you mean? What-" he was cut off by the pain. At first he clutch his chest and breathed several deep breathes. Then he let out a shriek of pain and fell to the ground, clawing at his pectorals. I watched impassively, refusing to show mercy or sympathy to this scum. He had brought this on himself, him and everyone else. And there time had now come.

He screamed as I took it up just another small notch, tears flowing freely down his face, before I lessened it enough to where he could breathe without screaming in pain. He didn't move for several seconds, the only sign of lie his breathing in gulps of air. He soon opened his misty eyes to see me standing over him. And I was ready for the next phase.

"Your time has come Santos," I hissed in a different voice. Then before even I knew exactly what I was doing, I was on my knees, and my hands were around his neck. His eyes bulged and he clawed at my hands, trying to get them off his neck, but my grip felt like and iron restraint, and he could make no headway. He finally clawed at my face, and I let him go on, knowing he couldn't stop me. Finally, I felt his pulse begin to weaken.

This was it. My time had come. I had my hands around his neck, the neck of the one whose actions set me on this course. Who had killed that mother, ruined her daughter's life, and broke me, causing me to try and die, which led to this new, otherworldly ability I now had. And now here I was again before him, only the tables had turned and now he was the one feeling the icy grip of fear. The terror of his end coming, and I was finally about to be satisfied.

" _What are you doing?"_ I heard a voice say in my mind. My grip slightly lessened, but didn't break. _Huh?_

 _"This is not who you are anymore, Michael."_ The voice said. And I knew that voice now, recognized it. It sounded like Gabriel. But how? Was my mind now trying to mess with me in my moment of triumph.

 _"Mercy Michael, mercy..."_

With a start, I let go of Santos's neck, and reared up until I was upright on my knees. I gazed at my hands for a moment before closing my eyes tightly and taking several deep breathes. When I opened them, Santos was still gasping and coughing, too weak to try anything.

I had almost broken it. The promise I had made to Gabriel. His last conversation with me played through my mind, and I shook my head for a moment, trying to clear it. Now as not the time for flashbacks. I had to focus. But the fact that I had almost taken a life that I had no right to take rattled me to the core.

Whatever Santos had done, I didn't have the right to kill him. He should be locked up for good, the key melted in the lock, and he should never see daylight again. But to kill, to take his life would be something that I didn't the authority to do. Whether it be God or nature or something else entirely, it wasn't for me. So after I composed myself, I stood back to my full height, and he had recovered enough to know to stay down. He gazed up at me with tears and snot running down his face.

"I want you to remember this, Santos. How this could have ended for you. And when you're locked away in whatever dark hole you end up in, you should pray you never leave. Because I'll be waiting right outside those doors. And I'll be watching. And if you ever try anything again...I won't give you a chance to take pleasure in anything...ever again..."

He trembled as he heard my words. Good, I wanted him to forever be afraid of me. Fear was the only way to get through to people like him. And Fear is a tremendous weapon, in the right hands.

 _BAM!_

A loud gunshot sounded in the room. And I felt something slap me on my right shoulder, and just microseconds after, a surge of pain shot through my arm and shoulder, causing me to let out and cry of pain and surprise. I whirled around to find that one of the thugs I took down minutes earlier had recovered enough to shakily aim his pistol at me and squeeze one off, which had managed to find me. A red haze of pain enveloped my vision, but I ignored it for a moment to sprint forward and kick the man in the face, forcing him out for good. It was then that I let out a gasp and grasped my shoulder where the bullet had hit me.

I didn't bother to look at Santos. I just bolted out the door in a shaky run, my form thrown off due to the wounded shoulder, with me having an arm clamped on it to try and stop the bleeding. I scrambled back the way I had come, retracing my steps. I didn't want to go out through the main entrance, where I swear I could hear cars and pedestrians. A bleeding teenager running away would attract some attention. So I opted for the other option, going back down the fire escape ladder.

The pain shot through my arm and shoulder every step down. I grit my teeth and kept going, knowing that as soon as I was down the jolts of pain would stop. Breathing deeply, I focused on anything else besides my pain, tricks that Gabriel had taught me. Finally, I was on solid ground, and stayed in the dark alley for a few minutes, increasing the pressure on my wound, a small nut of fear rising in me as I realized I was losing blood. Slower than before but still flowing. I needed to try to stay in the shadows on my way back, and try like hell to find a way to stop the bleeding before anyone got suspicious.

Should I go to a hospital? I could probably find an excuse after all, since gang violence has always been high. But I wasn't sure. Mother would probably double down on me, and I would have to start sneaking out instead of finding excuses, like taking a walk or something. Oh man, I am in some shit now...

I felt another wave of pain hit me and grit my teeth, hissing. I was still alone, so I cautiously made my way down the side of the alley, looking for something to help stop the bleeding. I couldn't find anything so I snarled a curse and took my jacket off. If I couldn't find something, I'll have to tear my shirt up and use it to staunch the flow. Making sure I was concealed, I took of my shirt tenderly, trying not to aggravate the wound.

I looked at my shoulder and swallowed. It seemed like a flesh wound, a long bloody trail across my shoulder. Though I suppose I should be thankful, since that means no bullet to try and dig out, and that could cause some issues. Hopefully, with some bandages and anti-bacterial stuff it could heal up on its own, without needing a hospital. Though I guess I'll have to try and stich it up first. But for now, I tore up my shirt, and placed the straps around the wound, tying the gently behind it. I prayed that that would be enough to not let it bleed through.

I then put my coat back on, hoping that the bullet trace wasn't too obvious in the dark, and then set off back home, walking slowly to make sure I kept myself composed and as pain-free as I could. I knew my face was a mask of pain, but with my hood up and my sunglasses on, I hoped no one would take notice. I kept my arm swing short and breathed deeply. I passed several people, but none of them took notice of me acting strange, or so I think.

I made sure I wasn't leaving a blood trail, and kept walking until I finally reached my house. I opened the door slowly, making as little noise as possible. It was dark and quiet, so I closed it behind me and walked through to what was now my room, and closed the door gently behind me. I finally was able to take off my jacket and attend to my shoulder properly. Good thing I stashed some medical stuff in here that I didn't tell Mom about.

I opened my closet and reached into the back, behind the clothes, removing the bandages. I sat on the floor, not wanting to have any bloodstains on the ground if the worst happens, and removed my shirt. Removing the improvised bandages, the wound didn't seem so bad now. Still, it looked like I was going to have to stich this up. I took a deep breathe to steel myself, and got the kit out.

Once I had everything set up, I positioned the needle to my skin, and took a long breathe as I slowly slipped it in. A flash of a red haze filled vision for a moment, but I held back any sounds. I took another deep breath and finished, done with the first one. Now for the next few. The next went rather smoothly as well, the sensation of pain being more bearable with its familiarity.

It was as I was about to put the last one in that the door opened, completely catching me off guard, as I was focused on my task and the pain dulling my hearing slightly. I looked up in surprise to find my brother there. I opened my mouth to say something, anything to try and divert what he was walking into to something that it wasn't. But all I couldn't do was gape like an idiot. Meanwhile he stared at me for several seconds before speaking.

"Holy shit..."

-0-

There is always those moments that catch you off guard, where you just can't think of something to say, because it just came right out of the blue. A moment that shocks you into immobility, where you can only stare at like a deer in the headlights, waiting to be smacked by the oncoming car, and there is nothing you can do about it. Because the shock has paralyzed you to the core.

That is how I felt when Chris walked in on me sewing up a gunshot wound. Now, how would one go about explaining to his family that he had a gunshot wound and didn't go to a hospital? Could I have just said that I didn't feel like it? No, that wouldn't fly. Could I say that I couldn't afford it? No, because we had the money in droves now, no excuse there.

So what could I say to Chris that he would believe? Could I actually tell him the truth? Would he more level headed and not driven by maternal panic as Mom might be? Chris was my twin brother after all. If anyone would understand, then maybe it would be him. Because to be perfectly honest, I couldn't really lie in this case. He had caught me, and the truth might be nice to tell to one other, if only to relieve the burden of lying to everyone just a little lighter.

What other choice did I have anyway...?

"What...what is this?" Chris asked, pointing at my two-thirds done stich. I glanced at it and turned back to him, making up my mind quickly.

"Get in and close the door. And stay quiet."

"What..?" he asked, but I shut him off.

" _Get in..and close the door..."_

He opened his mouth to say something else, and I gestured at him to get in, which he finally did. He turned and closed the door, louder than I would have wanted, and turned to face me, now standing up to face him eye to eye.

"Why are...are you hurt?" he asked, as if that were not obvious. I chuckled darkly.

"Yeah...it's only a flesh wound. Just a scratch."

"Michael, this is serious man. What happened? Shouldn't you be in a hospital if you need stiches?"

I sighed, and signaled him toward the bed. "You're gonna want to sit down for this Chris. It's gonna get weird."

"As if me walking in on you stitching yourself up isn't weird enough already?"

"Oh it's gonna get a whole lot weirder than that. So just sit down and get comfortable, because what I'm gonna tell you is going to sound like some sci-fi show. But just bear with me, please," I said. He finally nodded and sat down on the bed, with me taking the desk chair. I went through my head about when to begin, and decided to maybe edit it down somewhat, just to make sure he didn't realize how I came about these powers in the first place. I swallowed some pills. Why wouldn't be revealed.

I began to tell him, beginning with me taking some pills. I evaded his question as to why, and kept going, telling him how I was cocooned in something weird and foreign. His brow furrowed and his eyebrow rose, clearly not fully believing what I said. I didn't blame him, since I had to come to terms with it for some time myself. But I continued to speak, telling him how I had met Gabriel, and how he needed someone to help him around the house, not telling him about the training I was doing with him under that cover.

Then I told him about what exactly I could do, as far as I understood it. And as I was explaining, he burst out laughing, and I stopped in confusion for a moment. Did he actually think this was a joke, that it was funny? He went on for several more seconds before composing himself.

"Alright Michael, that's funny. Real funny. But seriously, what's going on here?" he asked. I should have figured he would be finding it funny I guess, but that didn't stop my annoyed growl.

"Haven't you been listening to me? I've been telling you."

"And it's a god story, but you don't really believe that you swallowed a pill and it gave you some kind of fire starting powers. Come on."

Alright, this was going to take some convincing. I looked around the room for something disposable. Something that I could burn easily, and was small enough to just blow out. I saw a tissue box and grabbed one, holding it in front of him.

"You want me to prove it?"

He looked at me and sighed.

"Sure Michael. GO ahead. Light the tissue on fire with your mind. Prove me wrong..."

Well, he asked for it. I held the tissue in my hand, and focused on it, just slightly, since it was only a tissue and I didn't want to set the house on fire. After a few seconds, the tissue smoked and then caught flame, with me still holding it. I let it burn for s few seconds before blowing it out, and looked back at Chris, who's eyes were wide as saucers. It almost looked comical.

"So...do you need more? I set a dumpster on fire my first time..."

"Michael...did you...did...you just...set that tissue on fire...?"

"Well, that is what I told you I can do now. So it would make sense then, wouldn't it?"

"But...you just looked at it...you didn't have a lighter or anything..."

"Yeah, as I said. I can set things on fire now. Pretty neat huh?" I said, though I still never thought that having this ability was "neat".

"But that's impossible..."

"I thought the same thing. But hey Chris, we got aliens and robots attacking and trying to destroy the world, and we now know those Asgardians were real all along. So to be honest, I've come to the belief that this isn't so farfetched now. Wouldn't you?"

He was quiet for a long moment, lost in thought. So was I. I had just revealed the secret to someone, and I wouldn't deny that even if it were my own brother, I was still nervous about how they would react. Would he do something I didn't want him to do? Like tell Mom about this? She would probably either laugh or freak out and use it as an excuse to try and prevent me from doing what had to be done every night.

He finally broke the silence. "So...what about that 'scratch' of yours? How'd ya' get it?"

I decided to be honest with him on this one as well.

"Well, you see, I've been going out at night..."

"Yeah, that's been established. But you say you're just going for walks or something. So you're doing stuff while you're out then?"

"Yeah...you could say that. I have figured that since I have this ability, I might as well use it to try and make this place a little better."

"Did you decide this on your own?" he asked.

"You could say that," I replied, though I deliberately kept the truth shrouded. No need to tell him about what I had really been doing with Gabriel all that time, and the promise made in his dying moments. He would know about the fire ability. The martial arts could remain a secret at least for now. I didn't need my brother wondering how I suddenly became a white Bruce Lee.

"But why?" he asked. "Sure you got this...thing...now. But you don't need to go out there and get yourself hurt for everyone else..."

"Yes, I do," I replied firmly, which seemed to surprise him. I kept my gaze focused deeply on him.

"I need to do this because no one else can. You know the shit we grew up in. No matter how much Mom tried to make it better, we both know bad things happened all around us. And we were powerless to do anything about it. Well, now I can do something about it. And I'll be damned if I sit on my ass and let the people who live here suffer. Not while I have the ability to do something to help, if that's only to make a cold world warmer."

Chris seemed lost for words at my declaration. Ironic, because I had no idea where they came from. No, actually, I did know exactly where they came. They came from an old man named Gabriel Strong, who proved to be much more than met the eye. And yes, I might not be doing this if he hadn't showed me that I was capable of making a difference in this world, strange powers or not.

And I hoped that Chris would see that too, and wouldn't rat me out to anyone, including Mother. Especially Mother...

He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breathe. "Alright. So now you have these powers and you're going out trying to help people. Okay, I get it. Why don't you want to ask anyone about this. I'm sure there are people who can help..."

"The more people who know Chris, the more dangerous it gets for all of us. Think about it. SHEILD scooped up anybody who had powers and tried to control them. Then that Nazi group took over and you saw how that turned out. They would want me, and what I can do. And if they have to kill you and Mom and anyone else, they'd do it in a heartbeat. That's what these big control groups are Chris. They claim they want to help and protect, and then exploit and destroy. So please, whatever you do...don't tell anyone. Even Mom."

He opened his mouth to reply, but held fast. He nodded after a moment.

"How many times am I going to have to come and find you stitching yourself up though?" he asked quietly. I was quiet for a moment before responding.

"As many times as is needed. I'll take the hits. You know I can."

He didn't say anything after that. He just rose up from the bed and walked to the door, turning around and facing me one last time.

"Alright, I'll keep your secret. But remember that there are some hits that hurt a low worse than others. And it takes more than stitches to heal."

Then he left, the words echoing in my mind. I glanced at my upper arm and was satisfied with my work, even if it were slightly crude. I tested my arm out and found that the pain had ebbed to an ache, which was easier to block out. I would be okay with this for now.

I undressed and laid in my bed, and replayed the conversation with Chris again in my mind. _...Some hits hurt a lot worse..._

Then I would take them just as well, I told myself. There may have been a glimmer of doubt in my mind to that phrase, but I shut it off. I wouldn't tolerate a distraction now, when these days I need to keep a clear head.

I just hope everything turns out alright in the end...

 **Well, the first time being a vigilante can be an eye opening experience, that's for sure. And now Chris knows. Hopefully, he can be trusted. As always, review and take care.**


	8. Blood On Your Hands

Chapter 8: Blood On Your Hands

Imagine the worst nightmare you could have. What would it be? Being alone on Earth? Chased around by the scariest monster your imagination could come up with? Being burned in Hell for eternity?

Now imagine if that wasn't a dream. That that was actually happening. Would you scream and run, or would you be paralyzed with fear or grief, unable to function. Forcing yourself to remember to breathe, to even live. You become catatonic, unable to function like a normal human being.

That is what I felt as I beheld the sight before me. But for one vital difference. Through the blinding grief I felt something else. Something that didn't allow me to become catatonic or to break down into a sobbing mess. Something more powerful than grief...

Revenge. And as I looked down and saw their blood on my hands, I knew that their fate, whoever it was that did this, was sealed.

My promise be damned...

-0-

It had been several days since I revealed my secret to Chris, and had almost taken down Santos. Strike that, I _did_ take down Santos. I had him bloody and weeping at my feet, and all I would have had to do is one more strike, and I could have turned him in to the "Cop Shop". Hopefully, he would never have made it out. But then I lost focus, lost in the moment, and got shot in the shoulder. I had to leave in a hurry, and leave Santos.

I hope I made an impression though. Because I wanted to make sure I finished the job, and soon. I had been trying to find him since, but the little bastard had been hiding well since the attack. Couldn't even catch a sign of him, no matter what thugs I interrogated. Even threatening them with breaking every bone in their body, well, at least the ones that I hadn't already broken did nothing. The whole code of a gang was everything to these people, and they seemed to follow it to the death.

It was frustrating as hell, and it showed. Mom and Chris seemed to almost be avoiding me these days, as if sensing my mood was bad, yet not wanting to approach me about it. I felt a twinge of sadness at that; that I was scaring them, when all I wanted was to keep them and everyone that I could safe and sound. But I suppose that until Santos and his new gang was taken care of, then I had to be the bad guy. And to these thugs and bastards, I had to be full blown demon from Hell, coming for their souls.

I held one of them by his throat right now, under the cover of darkness in an alley. He struggled to breathe against my grip, and I kept it firm, giving him just enough to verbalize and not pass out. But it was still very uncomfortable.

"I'll ask you again. Where is Santos?" I growled. He sputtered a curse and shook his head.

"I don't know nothin' man," he choked out. I gripped it tighter, forcing a choke from him.

"I'm being very gentle with you. I suggest you give me what I ask for. Or being robbed of air is going to be the last thing on your mind," I said in a low tone, making sure he caught the threat in there. He shed a few tears and shook his head.

"They'll kill me man!"

"And if you don't tell me, then what they do to you is going to be cake compared to what I am going to do to you..." I said. For emphasis, took his wrist in my other hand and began to twist. He let out a strangled cry as the tendon began to be twisted.

"Please..."

"Tell me..."

"I can't..."

"Then I'm gonna break both of them." I prepared to twist his wrist to the breaking point. He screamed.

"Alright! Alright! Just...please don't.."

That's a good boy. Now maybe I would be getting somewhere. I released his wrist and slightly lessened the grip on his throat. He took several deep breathes and composed himself, though he still had the fear in his eyes. Good, I hope it never leaves. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Fuck you..."

 _Suit yourself_...

I brought my fist down on his jaw, and he went out like a light, his eyes glazed over and closing and he went limp. I dropped him with a growl of annoyance and looked around, seeing if anyone passed by and spotted my little alley-way conversation. Thankfully, it was a quiet night, and I was able to leave him for whatever came across him. If a pack of wild dogs found him and started eating him alive, then it wouldn't be on me. Should have told me what I wanted to know.

I walked down the sidewalk, trying to think of where Santos might be. I checked the usual hideouts, the areas where I guessed someone like him was holed up, but all I found was dens of inequity that I occasionally had to clear out, with some fancy moves and fiery tricks. While I knew I should be showboating my ability to create fire, the looks these scumbags' faces when I light something up is priceless. Then I can usually finish them off while they are distracted by the very hot, very painful light show dancing on their clothes.

Just where could Santos have holed up? I knew he was smart enough not to go to he abandoned building where I found him first, but there were other places I know for a fact he frequented, and he never showed up anywhere near them. I decided that he may have gone into hiding, and so would I in his position. So where would someone like him go to hide? He was young so I don't know who would take him in, but he was old enough to be useful, just as I am. So I know some leader of the criminal underground would take him in. They always wanted new blood and he was fresh and eager.

I guess I just needed to start going through until I found him. Obviously I would need to tread carefully, since I was under no illusions that I was a 19 year old against the criminal underworld, the same one that Wilson Fisk, that "Kingpin" guy had come from. And hearing about how bad he was, I didn't need to be told how dangerous getting in their business was.

But it was just a risk I knew I had to take. Someone had to do something, and if the great heroes like the "Avengers" would do nothing, then it would fall to the people on the street, my and whoever these other guys popping up were, to make sure people like Santos never hurt anyone ever again. And if it involved getting my hands bloody along with the dirt, then I felt that must be something that I would just have to find the balls to do.

But none of it matted if I couldn't find him. Apparently, the code of silence rang among the gang members I had been trying to get talk, as Mr. "Fuck You" had demonstrated. But it was just a matter of time before one of them spilled. Not everyone was cut out for this kind of life, and one of them would realize that it was better to give me what I wanted rather than try and be some kind of living "Thug Life" meme.

The night wore on without incident. I didn't come across anything that caught my eye and returned home before long, catching a few hours of sleep before anyone woke up. I hoped that I wouldn't have to explain anything to Mom or Chris, though the latter already knew about my nocturnal activities when he walked in on me stitching myself up.

Keeping the wound secret from Mom was certainly painful. I had to keep a straight face whenever she was around, and make sure that I kept the wound bandaged so that no blood would leak out and make a stain. I was grateful that it was not bad, but that certainly did not mean it didn't hurt. So far, so good. She hadn't caught on or anything, though I never could shake the feeling she saw the pain in my eyes or something, with that weird "maternal intuition" thing, and just let it slide.

For now though I could only focus on making sure that Santos would be found, and until then, I hope he was too scared to try anything. If he was staying in one place, cowering in the darkness, then I had done my job well, even if I stupidly wasn't paying attention to the bastard who tagged me from behind. Next time, I'd be hitting them a little harder. I can't afford injuries like that many times before someone caught on. Luck could be smiling on me one moment, and giving me the finger the next.

I started to stretch out every morning, as the nights were getting rougher the more confident in taking people on I got. I hadn't been hit much at all, since most guys rely on intimidation rather than fighting, and when it came to the fight, they were like a drunken sailor, and fought like one too. But when I did get banged up, I made sure I loosened everything before starting the day. It helped to mask the pain so I could keep the charade going better.

 _Where are you hiding Santos?_ I thought in my mind as I went out for another night. _Where are you, you son of a bitch..._

-0-

"Reports coming in today of the new vigilante that has been roaming the streets today," the news caster said, catching my rapt attention. I had been taking a break since last night came up empty again and had been lounging on the couch, sipping some water and juice. Mom and Chris were in their rooms so I was alone when the report began.

"Eye witnesses report that a figure usually dressed in black with sunglasses has been stepping in during several incidents, including a rape that took place in an apartment complex in Hell's Kitchen."

The screen then flashed to what I recognized was the young woman my former landlord had been sexually assaulting, in which I taught him a lesson I hope he never forgot. She was clean and much better looking without the crying, and I couldn't help but grin when I saw her eyes flash as she began.

"I don't know who he is, or how old he is, or what he is, but I do know one thing. He saved me from being violated further that night. And I for one will always be grateful for people like him. So wherever you are sir...thank you."

 _You're welcome..._

"However, there are others who are not so welcoming of yet another face on the vigilante scene. We spoke with one such individual today."

Another face appeared on the screen, this time an older gentlemen with glasses, who gave me the impression of one who tried to look intimidating and serious, but just came off as a buffoon. I growled at the TV.

"The things these 'people' are doing is completely against the law. Good Samaritan laws don't mean you can just go around taking the law into your own hands. That's what the police are for. We should be putting our support behind them instead of these lawless vagrants."

My fist tightened in anger. Excuse me glasses? Where were the police when that woman was being raped? Where were the police when the first night I went out and saved an old man from being beaten, maybe even to death, by a bunch of 'lawless vagrants'? They were probably stuffing their faces with donuts and playing around, with their god complexes, when people were out there suffering at the hands of the real 'lawless vagrants'.

So tell me 'sir' what do you do when the police are no better than these rapists and murderers? Who are you going to run to when the shit hits the fan? Because the police that you worship aren't going to help. The high profile groups like SHIELD or the Avengers aren't going to come swooping to your rescue. So who is going to save you when that psycho has a gun to your head?

It is people like you who make a positive change in this world impossible. When someone makes a stand and saves enough, then goes on to try and do something, people like you try to shut it down. If you can't accept that there are better people then yourself, and that they are the ones, not the police, who are actively going out at night to try and make this a better place...then I feel sorry for you.

But his face was gone and so was my thoughts of him. Better to dwell on the things that matter more than the opinion of a stuck up old man. Like where Santos may be hiding, or where the next big gang hit may be. If I could find out that, then maybe I could find Santos in that group, or one of them would eventually talk. Then a though came to me about a new style that might get one talking, though I wasn't sure about how much control I had.

I thought about it more and more and decided that next time one of these thugs had a stiff tongue, maybe this new type of motivation might be enough to loosen the tongue up a little.

-0-

I think I was about to get my chance. I had managed to tail him. I finally had another one who I was sure would know where Santos would be hiding out. Because if he didn't know, then Santos must have disappeared off the face of the Earth itself. Or maybe gone to Antarctica, but I would find him even there if I had to. But I had one of his closest in my sights right now. And I know this because I ran with him before all this.

Barry. One of our old little group, robbing stores and small time places. One of the enforcers, brawny and intimidating. I knew back then that I could never have taken him in a fight, so I didn't even try. But now, after all this, even without my new ability, I knew I could break every bone in his body. And I found myself almost salivating at the mouth with the pleasure that would bring me. He had always been a douche, though not as big as Santos obviously. And now he was either going to talk or he would be withering in fiery agony.

I kept my distance, allowing him to feel safe, as though he was just on a late night stroll. I kept my footsteps silent as I had been taught, and sure enough, as I was out of his line of sight, he never knew I was behind him. Now it was just a matter of letting him go somewhere where we could be alone, and then I just knew I would get my answers, one way or another.

This went on for several more minutes. Barry clearly had a destination in mind, as he wasn't going around in circles as I would to try and throw somebody off. When we finally reached an empty street he went down a ways before entering an alleyway. I followed and waited until he was half-way through it before I made my move. I Rapidly advanced, not making an effort to conceal the sound, and he turned around just in time to have my fist connect with his face.

He let out a cry of pain and surprise, and I kneed him in his gut, keeping myself in between his arm length. One couldn't throw an effective punch if I was between his fist and his body and pounding away. When he doubled over I sent my elbow down on the back of his neck, and he went down for the count, struggling to breathe on the ground, spitting up blood. I let him suffer for a moment before trying anything.

"Out for a walk?" I asked, using my tone I use when I'm "working". He looked up at me, blood still on his lips.

"What the hell-?"

"I'll ask the questions here. I would advise you to answer them quickly, and I might let you walk away under your own power. If I don't like what I hear, then I guarantee it won't be pretty for you."

He looked at me and spat, specks of blood being sprayed on my pants. He scoffed.

"I ain't gonna tell you shit!"

"Oh really?" I asked, keeping my voice level. He seemed confused at this, as if he expected e to get angry about blood on my clothes or something. I leaned down so I could look him in the eye, keeping myself calm and focused. This seemed to slightly unnerve him.

"Have you ever had heartburn?" I asked. He looked at me in silence for a moment?"

"Heartburn?"

"Yes, heartburn. A rather painful sensation in your chest, almost like a burning, hence the term. Have you ever had it?"

"No..."

"Well, let's just say that if I don't get the answers to my questions, then you're going to experience it for the first time in your life. And it won't be pleasant. In fact, you can even say that it will feel as if your heart was on fire. And if that doesn't work, there are other organs I can try this one. Your intestines burning would be rather painful as well."

I leaned closer to him, whispering.

"So...you gonna tell me what I want to know, or shall we find out if I can do it?"

He looked at me, processing what I said. Then he grinned.

"What? You gonna set my organs on fire if I don't talk? Good luck with that. What, are you some kind of freak or something? Just how do you think you're gonna light my organs on fire?"

I really didn't actually want to do it. The thought of setting someone's heart on fire honestly felt like a line that some very bad people would cross. If I did, would I be turning into those people? The same people I gave my word that I would fight? Or is this not a line at all If I only kept it controlled, then it could possibly be useful to getting the info I need, and lives would be saved as a result. So to try or not to try...?

"Well, since you asked so nicely...sort of like this."

I reached my hand toward his chest and focused. I imagined his heart beating just behind the skin of his chest, and I thought hard about it heating up. I imagined it slowly, so slowly beginning to rise in temperature until it was noticeable, and then beginning to become painful. And then going from painful to agonizing, a pain that causes one's legs to go weak and to clutch at their chest, a scream on their lips, if they can even make a sound at all.

Barry didn't seem to notice anything at first, just rolled his eyes from his position. Upon seeing my hand extended toward him, he scoffed. "What, are you gonna do some kind of Jedi shit on me?" he asked. He chuckled, but I didn't let his comment or laugh distract me from my purpose. I fed more power into it and his expression changed from amusement to shock, and he reached up to clutch at his chest, as if trying to identify what the sensation was running through him. Then he looked at me again his eyes widened.

"Do you feel it Barry? Do you feel that burning feel racing through your veins? Your heart is what pumps the blood. So you should be feeling rather heated up inside right now..."

He opened his mouth, but no sound emitted. A tear, a bona-fide tear slid down his cheek. I increased the heat and his eyes closed and his mouth opened wider to let out a scream, though with the feelings being so intense, he could only make a harsh whispering cry. I cocked my head to the side as if studying an interesting specimen.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you? Did you have something to say?"

He tried again to speak, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, his eyes tightly closed in pain, doing nothing to staunch the flow. He gasped for air several times, before finally forcing out what may have sounded like a word.

"Yes?" I asked, refusing to show any emotion toward his suffering. He had brought all it down upon himself after all.

"P...P...Please..."

"Please what?"

"St...sto...stop..."

"Stop what? You yourself asked how I planned to burn your heart. I'm showing you."

Maybe it was time. I had demonstrated that I was not fucking around. Clearly, he had gotten the memo now. Is this the line? Have I already crossed it? Or was there still time to go back? As much as I enjoyed watching this low life suffer, perhaps it was time to give him a chance to breathe again. If he tells me what I want to know, then the burning stops for good, and he can walk away with his life. If not...

I concentrated again, this time lifting the burning from him. Slowly he began to breathe easier, and relax slightly. His eyes opened and he blinked the last tears of pain out. This time as he looked upon me, he looked upon me not with disdain, but with fear. Actually, I would say that was genuine terror in his eyes. I smiled.

"Now, are you ready to talk? Or do you need some more thermal therapy?" I asked. He nodded.

"Alright...alright...what do you want?"

"I want to know where Santos is. You know who I'm talking about I want to know where he's hiding."

"What makes you think I know?"

I growled and raised my hand, causing him to whimper in fear.

"I suggest you answer the question, unless you want to feel your organs become torches inside your own body. Where...is...Santos?"

He took a deep breath and grit his teeth.

"East side. He's got a place in old apartment building. He's been living in there since you did whatever the hell you did to him the other night."

"Thank you for your cooperation. Now get up."

He slowly complied. I pointed toward the streets.

"I want you to start running. And don't stop until you are wherever you call home. And when you get there, I am going to suggest you find the nearest corner and huddle there. And when you finally come out, pray you never run into me again. Because if I hear anything that even slightly indicated that you've started doing that shit you do again, then when I next see you, you will die slowly, and painfully, as everything inside you melts. Am I clear?"

He nodded and began to walk slowly toward the street. I growled, since he clearly didn't hear my instructions.

"I said _RUN_!"

And with my shout he took off out of sight, faster than I think he had even been capable of. I watched the area he had disappeared into for s little longer before making my way back to my place. I needed to prepare to have Santos finally meet his maker. Or at least a lifetime cowering behind iron bars.

-0-

Dinner was spaghetti. Home-made spaghetti. One of my favorite home cooked meals to have.

Mother and Chris were sitting at the table with me. I felt surprisingly at ease, even if I were going out that night to find this apartment that Barry had told me about. And to finally confront Santos one last time. But for now, I just wanted to enjoy my Mother's cooking, and I gobbled at it like it would be the last time I ever ate it.

We made some conversation, but it was mostly quiet, and personally, I enjoyed the calm atmosphere. Gabriel's money had really saved us from hardship, and I would be eternally grateful to the store clerk with a secret, who had mercy on me when I needed it most. Tonight, I was going to honor that promise I made. Tonight, Santos and whoever was with him were going to finally pay for what they had done. Justice may be blind, but Vengeance sees clearly enough to guide her hand.

To my surprise, she chuckled to herself. I stopped eating and cocked my head. "What's so funny?" I asked. She just shook her head, smiling.

"I'm just remembering the first time you two tried to eat spaghetti. The sauce all over your faces. It was just so adorable. It was one of the times I wished I had a camera right then and there."

Memory Lane. One of the best lanes to walk through when you have something good to remember when you stroll down it. I took another bite and grinned.

"And to be honest, we never stopped, did we?" I asked. She smiled and shook her head.

"Nope. You two have just kept on eating, the sauce be damned."

We all laughed at that. It felt good to be free of financial and legal troubles. And tonight I was about to be free of one more. So I made myself a promise. When I get back I would look for something special. Something to commemorate our deliverance from that hell hole of a past, and truly give us a future. I owed my Mother that much at least.

We finished and I volunteered to do the dishes, telling everyone else they can go ahead and go to bed, since they had been working all day and I needed a window to slip out. I was in the middle when I felt my Mother's arms around me. I stopped for a moment.

"Michael, I just wanted to tell you. You've been the best son I could have hoped for. I don't know how you bonded with Gabriel and ended up getting us all this, but..." she trailed off and I turned to face her. She looked into my eyes for a moment and then smiled softly, as if she saw something in there she liked.

"You...make me proud Michael. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

She gave me a kiss on the cheek and bid me goodnight. And then she disappeared toward the Master bedroom, and went to the finishing of my task. My mood then became grim, as if now that they were gone, something else was taking over me, and it knew the mission at hand. It was best I finish these dishes up quickly, since there was a job to do.

I went to my room and began to don the gear. Leather Gloves first, then my belt. Upon my belt I inserted the throwing knives I had inherited, making sure I had them all secure, but at a point where I could whip them out in a second if needed. My sunglasses and jacket, pulling the hood tight. I knew my objective now. The path was clear. Tonight, Santos was going to pay for what he has done.

The fire burns bright in the dark this night...

-0-

The East Side was pretty empty by this time of night. Those I encountered as I walked the streets never said a word, barely even looked at me as I walked down the sidewalk. It didn't surprise me that the building in question would be over here. This area always did have a reputation, even in the reputation New York City has in the dark of night.

I scanned the buildings as I walked looking for the mentioned apartment complex. Mostly old stores and businesses right now, but surely the apartments had to be around here somewhere. I rarely was in this area, so I was unfamiliar with it. But my search was a determined one, and I was not going home until the job was done.

Finally, I came across what just had to be the building. It was a deserted looking one, though I knew that looks could be deceiving. I knew that all too well. So I made my way to the front door. There was nobody in sight, and so I raised my boot up and brought it straight on the area below the lock. With a snap, the door was flung open, and I walked right in, alert for any surprises.

Nothing. All that was before me was an empty lobby, the desk covered in dust. An old sign advertised that apartments here would be cheap and clean, and I suppressed a chuckle at the sign, noting that it was especially cheap now, but for cleanliness, that could use an overhaul. Making my way down the hall past the desk, I began to search for the room Santos would be in.

I kept my steps silent and deliberate, and listened at each door I passed for even the slightest sounds. I wasn't getting and luck the first doors, but I didn't let that cause me to be careless. I kept being slow and careful with each and every step, stop, and check. Patience was a virtue that I had to learn, and was practicing even now. But I knew I wanted Santos to see it coming. I wanted to see again the fear in his eyes as I brought him in, knowing that he was never going to see the light of day. Not while I had a say in the matter.

Finally, I heard something. It sounded like something, maybe a movie, being played. I stopped and trained my ears on it, and sure enough, it was people talking. Maybe not a movie. There may be more than just Santos in here. It could very well be some kind of gang holdout. But I was going to see either way, and so I crept toward the sounds, nearly hugging the wall as I moved down.

The noise grew louder as I neared the door at the end. I mentally chuckled to myself, as it was obvious he would be as far away from the entry as he could. I was finally outside the door, and pressed near to listen in. Yes, what I had been hearing was most certainly a television playing. The voices were talking about love and some other chick flick crap. I felt a twinge of confusion, as that was not what I imagined Santos watched. But whatever, because it ended right here and now.

I took a deep breathe to steady myself, and then slammed my foot into the door. It flew open with a resounding crash and I rolled into the room rather than walk in, to try and avoid any answering gunfire. I could feel the fire inside me wanting to be unleashed, and I was ready to turn this whole room into a fiery tomb if I had to, along with beating the living shit out of anything in here.

And it was to my surprise that I found no such thing awaiting me. No cries of surprise from anyone. No gunshots ringing out, or people trying to rush me with knives or clubs or any weapon at all really. The room, a living room it seemed, was empty except for one figure sitting on the chair, watching the TV play its show, and didn't even seem to acknowledge my forced entry. The arms were over the sides of the chair and there was no reaction what so ever.

I paused, quickly assessing the area and finding no threat; I rose up from my defensive stance and looked at the person sitting in the chair. Still, they had not reacted. I quickly began to get a very bad feeling about it as I slowly walked over to the chair, and observed that the person sitting in it had not only not reacted, but had not moved a muscle. This was _really_ strange. The bad feeling in my gut began to get stronger as I advanced toward the chair until I was right behind it. I reached out and gripped the side, and then whirled it around forcefully, intending to surprise whoever it was in the chair. And it was instead me who got the surprise.

In the chair was Barry. And he was very much dead. I could tell from the fact his throat had been slit from ear to ear, and blood coated the shirt he wore. His eyes were dull and lifeless, and his skin pale with the passing of time. I opened my mouth in shock, and noticed that there was a note stabbed into him with a pin needle. I took it off him and turned it over.

 _Snitches die. And so will you._

 _Oh shit..._

I suddenly smelled smoke, and the door behind me slammed shut. I whirled around and bolted for it, slamming my weight against it. No budge at all. Someone had been hiding and waited until I was inside, and then must had sealed the door somehow. I whirled around, looking for a window, but found none in the room. The smell of smoke was getting stronger, and I knew that they must have set the walls outside on fire. I had been led into an ambush, if inadvertently set by Barry, and now they were going to get away with it.

"God damnit!" I roared in anger, and pounded the door. Whoever did it must have barricaded it strongly; however they did it I don't know. But what I did know is that the heat in the apartment got much higher and I could see the telltale smoke coming in under the door. I don't know about fire, but the smoke was still enough to get me coughing. If I didn't get out of here, the smoke itself would be the end of me before the fire.

I scanned desperately for an exit, anything, something. But nothing ever jumped out at me. I knew how to get out of some basic restraints, but being locked inside a burning apartment was something else. I could feel my eyes watering, and eventually, one of the walls sprouted flame as the fire eventually eroded the wall enough to get through. I gasped as braced for death, not even trying to have any final thoughts of home and family.

After a few seconds of standing there waiting for death, something occurred to me. I didn't think about controlling the fire or anything. Why? I do not know. But something in me, some kind of inner thought occurred to me. I felt like the fire wouldn't hurt me. And then I realized that the heat I was feeling was not overpowering, not like I was inches away from the blaze. I don't know what convinced me to try, but I knew staying in here wasn't possible. And so I did what no other would probably think of doing.

I walked forward. I walked into the fire. Straight into the blaze erupting in the wall.

And I felt nothing as I did. The flames never got above a pleasant warmth, and to my surprise again, the smoke from the fire didn't choke me or cause my eyes to water. I still couldn't see anything in it or through it, but I felt no discomfort walking through the fire or the smoke. I actually stood there in the middle of the blaze looking around in shock, my vision yellow. And I felt myself laugh at the discovery. My god, I was actually standing in the middle of fire without burning.

And then I freaked out just a tad, because the next though I had was if I didn't burn didn't mean my clothes wouldn't. I hurled myself through the fire at the thought, and found that my jacket had still caught fire. I brushed it off as I sprinted through the building, straining to see through the smoke and haze, and then finally burst through the front door, hearing sirens in the distance. I took a few deep breathes and discarded the jacket, as it had been burned pretty badly. Thankfully, the rest of my clothes were in enough condition to see me home, though I was going to have to discard them when I got back. It was then that I heard the steps rapidly coming from my left, and glanced to see several figures in black with what looked like gas canisters.

I ran after them, but they had too much of a head start. They reached a black car on the side of the street and the engine roared as they started it. I was almost there when they pulled out quickly and gunned it down the road. I growled in anger, knowing these had to be the men that had set the trap for me. And with Barry dead, I assumed that he had told them of his encounter, and they had killed him for speaking. But they used the info to try and make it a trap for me. It wasn't a bad idea actually, to lure me in and try to burn me up. The body would most likely be too badly charred for quick identification. But they didn't count on me being unburnable apparently. I know because I didn't either.

But I needed to get out of here and quickly, before the sirens I could hear in the distance got any louder. I took off at a run down the road toward home. I decided that maybe I should try and go in through my window or something. If for whatever reason I got caught walking in in burnt clothes, there would be questions asked, and Chris would probably decide enough was enough and tell Mother, and I know that would be a disaster waiting to happen.

The way back was quiet. Nothing to indicate that anything was wrong in the night. I don't know if it was just me or something else, but I got a bad feeling about something I couldn't quite describe. I felt myself increasing my pace toward home. And then I felt it. A shock, like a jolt of lighting shot through my body. I stopped for a moment and tried to understand where it was coming from or what it was, but then an overwhelming thought hit me like a ton of bricks being slammed into me at Mach 3.

 _Get home...GET HOME NOW!_

And I began to sprint, not caring if anyone could see me sprinting in burned clothes. Whatever this feeling was, it was telling me that there was something seriously wrong at home. And I needed to get back now. Some kind of sixth sense? Instinctual intuition? I don't know. I was just focused on getting back as quickly as possible. The streets raced by me in a blur with only home in my view.

And I skidded to a stop in front of it, and saw them. The same people who were at the abandoned apartment building were here, parked in front of my house. And I saw them readying the canisters of gasoline that they had when I saw them run earlier. One of them glanced back and noticed me there, and shouted something. That is when I acted.

I sprinted forward before the first one could drop his canister and get reach into his coat. My fists connected with his gut and as he leaned forward with a hoarse gasp my knee shot in his face. And before he had dropped down, I had whirled to meet the next one, already drawing a pistol. I snatched a knife from my belt and flicked it at him, the blade connecting with the hand holding the pistol, slicing into it. He screamed and I charged him, my foot kicking out and tripping him to the ground from the side. He fell and I dropped down, my fist connecting with his throat as I used the momentum to add to the punch. I heard him gurgle but didn't register anything else, for I was already turning to face the third intruder.

He was already training a pistol on me and I dove forward, the bullet flying where my head would have been. I went into a roll and came up right in front of him. Clearly he was startle d by this, and didn't have time to register as I grabbed his extended pistol hand in both of my own and twisted, feeling it give way with a crack. He screamed and dropped, and I held him by his now broken arm as he cried on the ground.

"Who are you people!?" I demanded. If they did anything to my family I swear to God...

He didn't respond immediately, and I gripped his broken arm even tighter, causing him to cry out.

"WHO ARE YOU!?"

"You...you're supposed to be dead..." he whimpered out. I snarled.

"Well, looks like I have some tricks of my sleeve. But I don't think any tricks you have are going to get you out of this. So unless you want me to break something else, you better tell me what the fuck you're doing trying to burn this house down!" I deliberately chose my words, not saying " _my house_ ". He coughed and grimaced. Then he looked up at me with bloody toothed smile.

"Just getting rid...of the pests relatives. Wouldn't want any others...gotta teach a lesson after all."

A cold shock zapped through my body at the words. They didn't mean to...oh no...

I punched him as hard as I could, and he dropped like a light. Before he even hit the ground, I was bolting for the front door. It was wide open and damaged like someone had kicked it in. I felt something rise in my throat and I charged in, alert for any signs of more attackers.

 _Mom...Chris..._

I called out their names and began to search. Nothing in the kitchen, it still looked undisturbed. I went through the various rooms until I finally threw open the door to the master bedroom. And screamed. Screamed in both emotional and physical agony. The sight I saw would make even the most heartless of men howl.

Mom and Chris were sprawled out on the floor, blood pooling around them. They lay motionless, Mom's eyes looking upward, cold and dead. Chris was on his side, clenching his stomach and his eyes closed, lying as dead as a discarded doll. I took several steps inside before my knees buckled beneath me. It felt as though they couldn't take my weight, and I didn't try to get up. Instead I found myself actually crawling toward them, and I reached Mother first. I picked up her head and lay it in my lap, gently shaking her.

"Mom...please...please wake up..." I felt tears falling down my cheeks. _Please God, or whatever the hell you are, please wake them up._ _I'm begging you..._

But intervention, whether divine or not, was not forthcoming. My mother lay there with her head in my lap. Her eyes, once so full of love and life, extinguished. What looked like several stab wounds were in her stomach and chest, and I felt my teeth clench and sobs escape. Nothing I did seemed to be of my own accord. It was as if some spirit of grief had overcome me, and I felt it build and build.

Finally, I threw my head back and screamed. Just scream as loud as I could. A scream of emotional agony unmatched in anything I could think of. My family is lying here around me, covered in blood, and all I could do was scream. For something, anything. Mercy, anger, pain. All of it was surging forward at once and I didn't know what to do about it. It had to go somewhere, so out it came, in the form of my voice.

I looked down at my mother's body, Chris as well. I opened my mouth to say something anything. Even dead I owed them this. I owed them.

"I...I'm so sorry...Mom...Chris...I'm so sorry..."

Because it was me. I had chosen to take on some kind of mantle. Made a choice to do this, to become something that I felt could help my city...my home...my world. And I never let them in on it. And now the very people I was wanting to protect more than anything, to give a safe haven to, were dead. I felt my body drained of strength. All my fault. It was my fault.

I felt as if my own soul was vanquished. There was nothing left in me now. Just a cold hollow where a heart should be. I felt my hands fall to my sides and mother's head slumped back to the ground. I took several deep breathes, but no amount of calming techniques would be easing the pain of something like this. I let out a few soft whimpers. My scream had taken my voice for the moment and I couldn't even cry.

I don't know how long I stayed like that. But as I sat there, my grief turned into something else. Something cold. Something that felt wrong yet at the same time so empowering. I closed my eyes tightly and then opened them, the tears having stopped. I saw in the reflection of the mirror something else in them. Something powerful. And hungry.

I leaned over and kissed mother's forehead. Her skin was cold, and I gave Chris a final look. I rose up from the blood stained carpet and turned around, walking out the door. I didn't turn back, since if I did, I felt I might lose this new power and I would crumble once more.

They have taken my family. Now I take their lives.

I walked back out into the night onto our front yard and the three men that ley there were moving around now, whimpering in pain. I looked at the first as he looked up at me, fear I his eyes. I _Good,_ I thought. _You should be afraid of what I am about to do._

And just like I had done with the man in the park what felt so long ago, I focused on him, imagining him burning up completely from the inside. He opened his and screamed as his blood rapidly boiled and then caught flame, his organs an inferno in his body until his heart was ashes pumping ashes.

I don't know how long it took. But I knew I wanted it to last. I wanted him to be awake and feeling every little burn I was giving him. Because what has done to me and my family doesn't warrant mercy. In fact, mercy was the last thing on my mind right now. For the act of killing my family, whose blood was still on my hands, there was going to be a reckoning of fucking biblical proportions. And it all started right here and now, and these men would feel it all.

He was still screaming as he crumbled. I don't know how he was still alive, but he still made sounds of agony as his face peeled away and his bones stood exposed. Finally they died out as he began to be nothing more than a pile of ashes. How I managed to keep him alive that long was beyond me, but I relished the thought. I turned to the next one, who was crying on the ground, desperately trying to crawl away despite his injuries.

"Oh god...please...please don't..." he begged. He had the gall to beg for his life? Did my Mother and Chris beg for their lives? Did he kill them anyway? If so, why does he get to beg for mercy and be granted it? Because he isn't going to get it. I was going to give them a taste of Hell's inferno.

"No." I told him coldly and quietly. And then I repeated the same procedure with him. He screamed for what seemed like minutes before he finally died, his body an unrecognizable pile of ashes and charred bone. I turned to the third and final, and realized that I still had no idea where Santos was. I knew these men had to be working with him. And I wanted some answer before he met his fate. Maybe I should give him an offer. I walked slowly toward him, and he cried and struggled to get away, but I was soon standing over him as he wailed like a child, knowing what fate awaited him.

I let him whimper on the ground for a moment, my expression unchanged, cold. I felt nothing now. No remorse or pity. No Mercy or compassion. Just cold anger and revenge. These feelings may have felt wrong before, but with what had just happened, they were the only things that I could feel, and so I embraced them with all my power. He looked up at me with pure terror in his eyes. I had become the devil, and I was about to unleash my wrath if he didn't give me what I wanted.

"Where is Santos?" I asked him, simply and to the point. He stared up at me for a moment, maybe wondering why he was not bursting into flames. I kneeled down and he whimpered in fear. I looked him in the eye again and asked once more. "Where...is...Santos?"

"He...he..."

"If you tell me what I want to know, you won't burn," I promised him. He gulped and nodded.

"Okay man, okay. He's at a gathering. They're throwing a little party to celebrate killing you."

"And where is this little party taking place?" I asked. He motioned with his head.

"A fancy little hotel they got downtown. Lot of wine and beer. Women too. But that's all I know man. Please, just don't kill me."

"Oh I am going to kill you," I said. His eyes bulged in shock.

"But you said you wouldn't do that thing to me!"

"Burn you? No I keep my promises, even to those who take my family from me. So no, you won't burn. But you will die."

With that, I drew a knife from my belt, and reached forward. He screamed and tried to raise his arms, but my arm snapped forward and grasped his chin, forcing it up. And with a cold motion I severed the arteries in his neck. Blood poured out and he began to gurgle and choke. I watched as he withered on the ground, feeling the life leave him as he drowned on his own blood. Finally he stood still, the light in his eyes dying out.

Was it wrong? I don't care anymore. He took my family from me. And so he should be grateful I just slit his throat and let him bleed out. He died in a few minutes rather than fry slowly from the inside. And with a single minded determination, blocking out everything, I began to head for this gathering he told me about. Nothing was going to stop me.

There was going to be blood in the breeze...

-0-

The night was supposed to be cold and chilly. People should be huddled up in their homes, or if they needed to go out for any reason, at least wearing a warm coat or jacket. No one should be walking around in a simple tight black shirt. That stood out in this weather, especially with the fact that one had knives along his belt. Well, normal people wouldn't. But I was not normal. Not by a long shot. And I would never be normal again, even if I didn't have these new powers and new skills.

I walked briskly down the streets, my mind already having deduced where the bastards would be for their little gathering. Around me a few people stared but no one stopped me, either too befuddled by my look or too scared when they saw my expression and knives. But what really started to set people off, to make them run away in surprise and fear, was the fact that things were catching fire.

I made my way down with nothing else on my mind but one thing. To make Santos and the rest die as painful a death as I could manage. Nothing else mattered. Not the pain, not the cold, not my state of mind. I had one objective and I was locked onto it, like a heat seeking missile to a vulnerable target. There was nothing that was going to stop me. No Pain or discomfort. No pleading or begging. Santos's blood would flow for what has happened tonight.

As I walked, the air around me became warm. Those who walked past me often stopped and looked back, not only due to the knives but because apparently being near me was like stepping close to a heater. And it just became hotter the more intense my desire to kill became. Finally, it began to truly become an issue when a newspaper next to me caught fire as I walked past it. And then several moments later, several dumpsters also went up in flames. A little further up, and a flower shop's smoke alarm went off. If one were to look in, everything that was a plant was burning.

Yet I did not stop for anything. The city was starting to burn around me, and I felt nothing. No care in the world. It was irrelevant, meaningless to me. If someone was caught in a blaze I unintentionally started, I might have just kept on walking to my objective, as there was nothing that would, or could stop me. If anyone tried, then there was going to be a problem. _Tempt not a desperate man_...

People were starting to scream and run as things were catching fire all around me. There was still nothing huge, but it was certainly big enough for people to notice. I knew people were calling for the fire department, I wasn't worried about that. But I knew that the cops would be called, and they would get it in their heads to try and physically stop me. It would be regrettable if they tried, because if they did, they were about to be taught a harsh lesson.

I kept going, and soon enough I heard the telltale sirens. I paid them no heed, and continued onward. Before too long a car pulled up next to me, and the window rolled down. A pudgy faced cop stuck his head out the window, squinting at me.

"Hey kid, mind if I talk to you?" he asked. I didn't acknowledge him and continued to walk forward, and he tried again, but I didn't even male out what he was saying, my mind already made up that these cops didn't matter to me. Eventually, the car pulled up and both of them stepped out, making their way to block me.

"We just want to talk to you son," one of the asked, though his hand was dangerously close to his weapon for simply talking. I kept going, intending to go right past them.

"Move," I told them without emotion. They looked at each other but still didn't seem to take the hint that this was not the night to be fucking with me. One of them extended his arm out to put it on my chest. That was a very bad move, and he would now pay the price for it, true to my mental word. It was as if my hands were not my own as they flashed forward and grasped the man's forearm. I pulled him forcefully forward and jabbed my knee into his gut, causing him to get the wind knocked out of him. I then swung my body to the side, swinging him along with me, and he was thrown to the ground, landing with a thud.

His partner, the pudgy one, tried to draw his weapon, but I closed the distance between us too quick and my leg snapped out, taking his own legs from under him. He landed on his side and I kicked him, just enough to give him the good old "lights out". The other cop wasn't moving, so I continued onward, my focus quickly regained on my task at hand.

I didn't see any more cops, though several cars did race by me. More items on the street caught fire as I passed, and of course people were noticing, and dialing. But for whatever reason, I was not confronted nor challenged as I soon saw my destination in sight. A rather fancy hotel and restaurant. Somewhere I knew big wigs in the underground held little gatherings. Only this time they had apparently brought Santos along, maybe introducing him as one of the new helpers to a big dog somewhere. But tonight, they were all going to die. I wasn't here to _stop_ them. I was here to _kill_ them.

I walked closer and closer, my body almost feeling like it was shivering. Not in fright or the cold, for I felt none of that. It was, as I realized, anticipation. For here was my family's killer, and here is where he would pay, along with everyone else in this building. I don't care if they did the deed or not. If I found them here, dining with him, they died.

I pushed open the door and entered the lobby area. Behind the desk was a well-dressed young man, who looked up and saw me there. As he did, his face contorted into confusion, and he stood up.

"Sir, are you here for the party?" he asked. Why yes. Yes I am...

I walked over to him and placed a hand on the desk. He seemed to notice the burnt clothes and the blood from my knife work on the three killers. He opened his mouth, but I raised my hand to silence him.

"I am going to tell you right now that if you make a sound, you die," I said. He began to slightly tremble, but as long as he didn't try anything, I paid no heed. "I am here to see Santos. Is he in there?" I asked. The orderly nodded, gulping as he did. "Good. I have some business with him and his new compatriots. If you remain here and don't make a sound, nor call anyone, then you get to live. If not, you are going to be splayed out on this fancy carpet with your throat slit from ear to ear. Do we understand each other?" I asked. He nodded again, and I could tell he wanted to sink under his desk, so I patted it.

"Good. Now get down under your desk and don't leave until after I am done. Once I am, you may leave and never worry about me again. Now drop down."

And drop down behind the desk he did. I keep my word after all. So I continued down the hall where I could hear the fancy music. It actually sounded like a formal event in there. Who these people were exactly I probably wouldn't know, but there was about to be one hell of a party crash.

I walked forward past the lobby and pushed open some large, fancy doors to find myself in a large dining room of sorts, though it looked as though the tables had been pushed to the sides and everyone was frolicking with glasses of alcohol. There were voices and laughs and chuckles filling the air, as the various patrons of this gathering talked amongst themselves. No one seemed to notice me at first, and I stood there surveying the scene. There had to be dozens of people here. Around me I noticed that there was what appeared to be bodyguards at the sides, though they hadn't noticed me just yet.

My eyes searched for my main target, and there he was. Santos in the best clothes I had yet seen him, standing next to some fancy suited man whose features I honestly didn't care enough to dwell on. He had a glass in his hand and was talking happily to another suited man, and both he and his friends were laughing. I felt the rage, the silent, burning anger rush over me like a wave, only this time it would not be so quiet.

"Excuse me, were you invited?" I heard a voice say. I turned to find one of the guards at my side. He didn't appear immediately hostile, but I knew from what I was about to do that this was going to become extremely violent, extremely quick. I simply smiled and shook my head.

"No. I just have some business with Santos over there. And the rest of them to be honest..."

"Well then, you need to wait until we are done here or make an appointment. Please leave the room." He said. I looked at him and cocked my head.

"And if I refuse?" I asked. He narrowed his eyes.

"Then you will be made to leave."

Well, that concluded negotiations then. I focused on his throat and worked to heat it up inside. His eyes grew wide and get grasped at his neck, opening his mouth to take large gulps of air, as if trying to cool it down, though there was no way of that working. The noise attracted the attention of several patrons, and more security rushed over to try and control the situation. I increased the range of my focus to include the other guards and to my surprise it worked, with them crumbling down struggling to breathe. Santos finally saw me there, and his mouth opened slightly in shock. The rest of the patrons finally stopped talking and were gazing at me in surprise.

"Aren't you the one that was causing all the trouble?" one of them asked. I didn't respond, instead regaining that cold feeling I got as I made my way here. My family's faces flashed through my mind as I focused on the one who had spoken, a brown haired pornstached looking man. He felt the effects quicker than I thought, and he fell to the ground screaming as his skin began to melt away and his organs caught fire. Around him, patrons backed away horrified by the sight and smell, and the man kept screaming even as his body crumbled, his body becoming a pile of ashes.

They all turned to look at me and one of them reached into his coat pocket, clearly attempting to draw a weapon. I didn't even let him draw it. Just focused on his arm and he screamed, his pistol falling out of his jacket as his arm caught fire. Around him the others backed away, and the man began to wave his arm frantically to put out the blaze. It didn't work. I just kept going until the flames spread all over his body, and he was soon rolling and flailing on the ground in pure agony. Soon, he met the same fate as his comrade. There was a scream of what must have been fear, and I turned to see that someone was running for a back exit.

Sorry, but no one's leaving this building without paying the door fee. Your lives.

It took a mere second or so for the door to erupt into flames, and the man who had been running for it stopped in its tracks, looking back at me in terror as others began to back away from me, sounds of fear and surprise starting to fill the room. Santos kept his eyes locked on me, his eyes wide as saucers. I grinned at him, and something in my grin must have triggered some primal fear in him, for he began to back away, the glass in his hand falling to the ground.

I began to pick them off one by one. Keeping myself firmly stationed at the door, so no one could try and escape through there, they each burned. There had to be several dozen of them at least, and I went through them each. More than once I had to turn my attention to one who was drawing a weapon or trying to run behind me to the door, or even to try and rush me as I was focused on someone else. But it didn't work. I felled each and every one of them, one by one.

And I felt nothing as I did it. The pain had become part of me, and I let it guide my hand as I sent each one of them to whatever afterlife awaited them. But I made sure they felt every agonizing second as they burned to ashes. I spared none, for I had no mercy to give them, no leniency to offer. What had been taken from me tonight was being paid in full. Tonight I was a reaper, born of fire, and I had come for their souls. And they burned.

All except one. Him. The one who's actions set me on this journey from the beginning. The face of the little girl once more flashed through my mind, something I thought I had conquered long ago. Santos was braced against a wall the entire time, fear etched on his face as though he were in a nightmare that he couldn't awaken from. And this time, he was not going to wake up in bed. No, tonight, _I_ was the nightmare.

Smoke filled the air, as the last one crumbled to dust, his scream dying in the air. All that was left was one. And I surveyed my work with satisfaction, noting that each one was felled, before slowly turning my attention to Santos, who was trembling against the wall. Now it was time. Time for me to finally do what I should have done. What I should have done and didn't. And [aid the price for. It was not a price I intended on paying again. No more.

I approached him slowly, keeping it slow and deliberate, letting his fear grow more and more with each step closer I got. I had something special planned for him. Oh, I was going to enjoy this. He would not burn. That would be painful yes, but far too quick for me. I wanted this to last, and to make a saga of his agony before I finally destroyed him. The hotel around us was on fire on one side, after the exit door I burned. But neither of us paid any heed. If this hotel had a sprinkler system, it was a faulty one. I wouldn't even notice if I was being rained on any way.

I finally stood before Santos, and he swallowed. My face was uncovered, because I wanted him to see who it was that had ended him. Whose family he had hurt, and who had come back for his pound of flesh. I didn't speak for a second. He looked like he was contemplating making a ru for it, and I gave him a slight shake of the head.

"Don't even think about it, Santos. Running won't work. You'll just die sooner. Instead, I am going to give you just a slight chance..."

"What do you mean?" he asked in a shaky voice. I stepped back with my left foot, bracing myself.

"Swing at me..."

He looked at me in confusion. I growled.

"If you can get past me, or beat me, then you can kill me and get out of here with your life. But I win...it won't be pleasant for you. So...do we have a deal?"

It was weird yes, what I was doing. Giving him just the slightest chance at getting out of here. But part of me didn't want to just kill him in cold blood. Part of me wanted him to try and fight. To struggle as my family might have. I wanted to enjoy this, and having him try and fight his way out would be much more satisfying then just burning him up like the rest. I wanted him to struggle. To try and fight against the inevitable. It would make the death so much more pleasing.

He seemed to be considering his options and I swear he had to know he had no chance. But when you are backed into a corner, one can either die or strike out. And so he did. He jabbed a fist toward me, and I saw it coming a mile away, his body language telling all. I easily moved my head out of the way and gave him a toned down jab of my own, hitting him square on the forehead, almost like I was disciplining him as a child rather than a murderer. He grunted and moved to the side. I allowed this and we circled one another. I grinned.

"What are you waiting for Santos? Or does the coward want something to make it easier?" I taunted, and drew a knife. He braced for what looked what might be an attack, but was surprise when I threw it down at his feet. If he didn't want to fight me with his hands, then I'll give him some encouragement. He had about as much chance of stabbing me with that knife than a snowball has in the fiery pits of Hell. Slowly, he bent down and picked it up, possibly expecting me to stop him. He raised up and I knew he felt a slight glimmer of hope with the knife, and I think he may have started a grinning.

I held out my arms.

"Well...any day now..."

He roared and charged me, the knife held in a stabbing position with the blade down. He tried and overarm swing, as if he was going to stab me in the brain with it, and I side stepped the blow, driving my knee up as I did, and caught him in his gut area, forcing the air out of him. I let him recover for a few moments, and he attacked again, slashing back and forth this time. I maneuvered around each and every blow, wondering how it was I could ever have been afraid of this pathetic pile of shit, and finally gave him a punch to the side of the head, making him hit the ground and roll once. He let out a groan and held a hand to his head, his bells obviously rung.

I stared over him for a moment before deciding that that was it. I gave him a shot and he blew it spectacularly. So I brought my boot down on the wrist holding the knife, and it cracked, him screaming and the knife out of his hands, and back into mine. I noticed that the area we were in was starting to become just a little uncomfortable with the fire now building more and more, or at least I didn't want Santos to die of suffocation before I was through with him.

So I grabbed him by his unbroken wrist and began to drag him, toward a set of doors that had a staircase sign. I wanted to get him to the roof. Because I wanted the world to see him fall, and I wanted him to see the world seeing him for what he was. He resisted slightly, but I gave him a kick to the side that shut him down, and he made sounds of pain with each step he banged against on the way up. But his cries were irrelevant as long as I got him up there. We finally reached a door at the very top that I kicked open, and we were soon in the clear fresh air of the night.

I heard the sirens below us, as firefighters were now entering to try and control the fire downstairs. And I heard the whirring of a helicopter. I hoped that it was some sort of news chopper, because nothing would have satisfied me more then to see Santos when he finds out his death was about to broadcasted on every channel in the state. Sure enough, the light of the chopper lit both of us up, and I felt my mouth spread into a smile of its own volition.

I looked down at Santos and released his hand. He started getting up, whimpering in pain. When he stood crooked under the weight of his agony, I locked eyes with him and smiled.

"Look around you Santos. The world now sees you. How do you think they see you?"

"Why...did you bring me up here?" he asked. I laughed.

"So everyone can see. I want the world to watch you suffer and die at my hand. The same way my family suffered. And you are going to get the same treatment your friends gave them. Say whatever prayers you want, because it ends now."

I grabbed him and dragged him to the edge of the roof. I drew a knife from my belt, and his eyes bulged out, his good arm raised to try and fend the blow off. I effortlessly deflected it and used the knife to slice open his shirt with a clean swipe. I positioned the blade at the top of his chest, and began to make a downward cut, not too deep, and not too shallow.

Santos screamed, and I kept going. In my sub-conciseness, I heard voices yelling something at me, but the thrill of bloody vengeance was too much for them to be heard. I finished the deed and Santos squirmed, blood steadily dibbling down his torso and waist. He mouthed something at me, but instead of asking, I positioned the blade to the side of his stomach, and began the long slice to the other. He screamed once more and I loved every second of it.

The voices were louder this time, but again I paid no heed. I began to cut him diagonally and he kept screaming and thrashing weakly, but nothing he did would stop this. This pain was going to be the last thing he ever felt in his life, and so I wanted him to feel every second of it. I wanted him to know just a fraction of the pain I was feeling. He should be grateful that this was only physical.

A light lit me up, and I glanced up to find that the spotlight on the chopper that had been hovering around was fixed on us. I acknowledged it's presence, but otherwise paid no heed. Nothing on this Earth was going to distract me from what I was doing right now. I looked down at Santos's quacking and bleeding form, his torso criss-crossed with knife slashes, and I held the blade tightly in my hand as I prepared to deliver a final thrust.

"Why..?" I heard him gurgle in pain. I growled, and held him close to my face.

"Because you are the one that started everything. Ever since that night in the store when you took a child's innocence. When you made me want to die, and indirectly cursed me with this. But I suppose I should thank you. Because now I have the power to deal with monsters like you."

I gripped him tighter as the recent events feeling took over me.

"I spared your life. And how did you thank me? By killing my mother...my brother. I had the chance to kill you and I let you live. And now I have to pay the price for that for the rest of my life. But for now, you will reap what you sow..."

I held the blade to the base of his throat and gripped it tightly.

"See you in Hell, you son of a bitch..."

And with that, I thrust the blade forward. I watched with satisfaction as his blood poured from the wound, and his mouth opened with a gurgle, and blood trickled out. I then heaved him over the side of the roof, and stood there, illuminated by the spotlight, and watched his body fall to the ground below, seeing him splat on the sidewalk.

It was over. My vengeance completed. For a moment, everything was quiet, eerily so. The sound of the world was muted out as my mind's eye went elsewhere. Memories of Mom and Chris in happier times, my last birthday. Mother beaming as the cake was presented. Then a memory of Chris and myself wrestling as children, laughing and howling with glee. And then Gabriel's voice cutting through it, reminding me of all the sessions and lessons, as painful as though some many were, reminding me of the most important lesson of them all.

" _You don't need to kill everyone who wrongs you. Sometimes, turning the other cheek is the best..."_

I looked down at my hands, and found them covered in blood. I hadn't even noticed at all during the burning or cutting. I looked down again and saw the crowd surrounding Santos's splattered form on the pavement, some looking up at me and pointing, and I heard shouts of words I couldn't make out. But I swear I could hear murderer in there, or my mind registered it at least.

I felt the knife slip from my hand, clattering to the ground. I felt my breathing increase to almost hyperventilating, and the voices of those I knew and loved filled my head. Mother...Chris...Gabriel. Would they have wanted this? Would they have wanted me to tear Santos's apart, cut him up, and burn all these managers of crime and debauchery?

But they were dead. Mother and Chris killed by these people, and Gabriel by his own heart, after deciding to take me under his wing. So his death, my mind still put on me, even as he directly told me not that it was his choice alone. And Santos's dead by my hand, his blood still on my hands, the knife used for the deed lying at my feet. I felt my emotions boil up, and I stepped back from the ledge, stumbling several feet away. The events of this night crashed over me and I couldn't help the scream of both rage and pain that erupted from me. I was furious at everything. Santos for what he did. My family for having been taken from me, even if that anger was beyond logic. And the world for being so goddamn cruel and cold.

All the resistance, all the fight in me that had raged for so long had burned out. The boy who could make things burn from within, who could make a man's death a long burning inferno, had been burnt out. I held my hands slightly in front of me, and gazed at the blood that was coating them. On my hands. Their blood, both my family's and their killers, were on my hands.

On my hands...

-0-

I didn't resist as they took me in. Several cops, I don't know how many, kicked the door open and swarmed me. I half expected them to shoot me, and found myself genuinely saddened when they didn't; such was the usual nature of the police. They handcuffed me, I heard some various words used to describe the carnage downstairs, but most seemed freaked out at all the ashes that were spread around the ballroom area. I think they may have been briefed on strange things starting to happen and I was one of those strange things.

I don't remember much after that. The things like the fingerprints and the picture they take brushed by me, as I had no will to cooperate. I barely was walking along in any case. Everything was like a blur to me, and all my movements felt like robotic, like it wasn't even me in control any more. Like I was being piloted by something else in my brain, and I was nothing more than a vessel to be driven.

I don't think I was very cooperative during the interrogation. For all I can recall, I just sat there, ignoring everything that was said, as if it didn't matter, and to be honest, it didn't. Everyone was dead. And everyone here in this station was dead to me as well. And I, most of all, was dead. I was just a dead man walking. And I didn't care if they locked me up for good.

I tried to be a better man. And I failed.

-0-

I was taken from my cell one morning, and led down the now familiar halls to the interrogation room. I don't know what they were trying to accomplish. I was of no desire to speak to them, and chances are they already had video footage from the helicopter that was hovering over us as I killed Santos. Why they still felt the need to pester me with these things was beyond me. Just lock me up already and leave me alone.

This time they sat me in the chair and didn't sit down themselves. Instead they left the room telling me that there would be someone here to see me shortly. I just nodded slightly giving no other indication of care, and was left to my thoughts for at least several minutes. What good a talk with anyone would do at this point was beyond me, but right now I was still not in the mood to care.

Could I escape? Maybe. I could melt the bars of my cell, cause all the weapons they have to burn in their hands, and when it came down to it, I could easily take any of the cops in the building. It wasn't like they were good fighters, or else they wouldn't always be ganging up on some poor sod who crossed the road in a way they didn't like, six or seven of them beating him up. So if I wanted to, I had a good chance of an escape.

If I wanted to. But maybe I was better off locked away from humanity. Maybe I shouldn't have anything more to do with it...

Finally the door opened and in walked a man, maybe early thirties. He had black hair and a slight stubble on his chin, and sunglasses securely on his face. I wondered why he would have his sunglasses on inside, but then I noticed he was moving around with a cane, gently tapping it around as he felt the environment around him with it. I realized this man must be blind. Did they send a blind man to talk to me? What good do they think that will do?

Finally he sat down and placed his cane to the side. He gave me a nod.

"Hello Mr. Fenton. My name is Matthew Murdock. I have volunteered to be your attorney for counsel."

A Lawyer? Well, that makes sense. Even people like me must still have some protection under the Constitution. Apparently, I still needed someone to yap at a judge about how I could be rehabilitated or something. Not that that worked too well the first time. Well, here we go again.

He shuffled some papers, quiet for a moment. Then he looked back at me again, though I knew he couldn't actually see me. For some odd reason, this guy was sending warning bells to my head; though not the kind that told me he was a threat. Something about this strange blind man said that even blind I should not try something with him. Not that I had the urge to do so any way. To my surprise, he chuckled.

"They told me you weren't speaking to anyone. That's quite alright. I think I know what happened already."

I decided to speak for the first time since I got here.

"Do you?" I asked, my voice betraying my slight sarcasm. He continued to slightly smile.

"Yes, I do. I'm curious. Do you know anything about a vigilante that's been going through Hell's kitchen in recent months?"

"Well, there's that 'Daredevil' guy..." Mr. Murdock chuckled and shook his head.

"I'm not talking about the Daredevil. No, I'm talking about what reports coming in are saying is a young man who was demonstrating rather impressive martial arts and throwing ability. And that he seems to be able to, shall we say, 'heat things up'."

I swallowed. Murdock tilted his head slightly to the side for a moment, very inconspicuously where if I hadn't been watching like a hawk I wouldn't have noticed. It was as if he were listening to something. He continued.

"So Mr. Fenton, do you know anything about the individual I am speaking of?"

Did he know about me? Clearly what I had been doing was out; the news was covering it occasionally. But did he somehow figure out it was me before or after the massacre? Did someone already put it all together? I decided to try and see if he could be thrown off. People still didn't really believe much even when they saw it. So maybe the charred bodies in the ballroom area when I burned them could be claimed by the fire that I started to block off the secondary exit.

"I've heard of him, yeah. Seems like someone got pissed at all the shit that was happening around, and decided to do something about it..."

"Yes. It's actually very noble of him to do so. To use your power to help protect the innocent. To make the world a better place. Doesn't that sound nice Mr. Fenton?"

"I suppose so." He nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer.

"Let's get down to business then. Do you understand the charges against you?"

"Yes."

"And do you know that there were multiple witnesses, not to mention a news helicopter that got you on camera performing a rather gruesome killing of a Mr. Santos?"

"Yes," I said. I had intended for there to be witnesses, as I wanted him to be humiliated. But now in hindsight, it just didn't feel right. What felt like a rush of revenge was now feeling...wrong. Cold. Empty...

"Good. Then you are under no illusions as to the weight of the evidence against you. But I have read the report from when they searched your place of residence. And I think I know what happened..."

 _Don't you dare try to presume a thing Murdock..._

"It was your family, wasn't it?"

I slammed my fist down on the table, the sound and force surprising even myself. However, despite the fact he shouldn't be able to see, Murdock didn't even flinch, as though he saw it coming a mile away, even blind. I felt my breathing increase as my emotions came threaten to spill forth for the first time since they brought me in.

"Don't you even fucking think about trying to use them."

"I'm not using them Mr. Fenton. I am simply asking if the people they killed in the house were your family? There was a woman and a young man who apparently bore a very striking resemblance to yourself. A twin if I were to guess."

I grit my teeth. He continued.

"And I am going to go out on a limb and say that when these people you've been fighting realized who you were, they killed your family. And now you have killed them out of revenge..."

Well, he knew for sure now. I guess any hope of the full truth dying with me was quashed right then and there. I had no words. I just couldn't speak. I sat back in my chair, and looked down at the table, seeing nothing and everything all at once. Murdock placed his hands on the table and crossed them, silent for a moment, as though pondering what to say.

"I don't blame you..."

 _Is he trying to get me to open up or something? Because that ship sailed long, long ago..._

"In your position, in the same shoes, I think I might have done the same thing. I know what it's like Mr. Fenton, to be angry at the world. To see all this cruelty around you every day and finally deciding to do something about it. And I know how it must have felt to see your family dead, and the desire to take your vengeance being impossible to resist. It something that's just a part of us, and we must learn to control it when needed."

 _Control..._

My mind went back to one of the lessons Gabriel gave me on such a thing. He said that when we learn to master ourselves, there is little that could not be accomplished. He that controls himself controls his future, Gabriel once said. My mind played this lesson back, and my mouth hung open for a moment before closing. I looked to the side, away from the mirror.

Murdock leaned forward slightly, catching my attention.

"I have spoken with someone who is interested in you. It would seem they recognize you from somewhere, and obviously, you have made an impression over the last few months. I think they are some people who you are going to want to listen to. Would you mind listening to what they have to say?"

 _Recognize me?_

Murdock gave me a slight grin. "Trust me on this Mr. Fenton. You are going to recognize them as well from somewhere. I strongly encourage you to hear them out."

And I wanted to, now at least. Murdock was now striking me as someone who I might be able to trust just a little, to put just a glimmer of faith in, which I thought had died out in me on that bloody carpet in the Master bedroom. I swallowed and nodded, then spoke when I remembered he was blind.

"Alright..." I said, my voice barely above a whisper. But Murdock was already moving before I even verbalized my consent, as though he heard me nod or something. He collected his papers and stood up, picking up his cane.

"Trust me Mr. Fenton. I am going to devote everything I have to this. I'll get you to a better place."

And with that he stepped out, closing the door. I heard muffled voices, and the door opened once more, this time admitting two individuals. One was black skinned and I felt my heart stop when his face registered with me. The other was familiar as well, Caucasian, taller, and more muscled than the black one. I swallowed hard. I now knew where I recognized them from.

"Well, you seem to have come a ways from the hospital, haven't you?" the black one asked. It was him. The man who had spotted me behind the trash cans at the hospital that fateful night when Gabriel was finally released from this world, and I had made my promise, which I feel I may have now broken. It was him, the man with the wings I had seen on the TV several times now...

The _Falcon_...it was the fucking _Falcon_...

And the other. The tall blonde one with the blue eyes who carried himself with a strange sense of old timer grace...

"Son of a bitch..." I heard myself say out loud.

 **Sorry for the wait folks, but this one took a while. But I am back and writing the next chapter up as you read this. Hopefully, this gives you all some satisfaction until then. With that, until we meet again, take care, and leave a review if you have any thoughts or opinions.**

 **-RWBRyan**


	9. An Offer

Chapter 9: An Offer

I didn't know what to say. Truly, I was at a lost for words. It was him. _The_ Captain America. And The Falcon next to him, who I now recognized as the man who had seen me that night behind the trash cans. Intruding on my moment of weakness, however inadvertent it may have been. I knew I would have to be mindful, now that he had seen that side of me.

They both entered the room and The Captain shut the door behind them. It was dead silent in there for a moment, both me and them looking at each other, as if sizing each other up. I didn't know what their capabilities were in total, only that The Captain was some kind of super soldier with enhanced strength and speed, and the Falcon had his wings, though he obviously would not have them at the moment. Not unless he found a way to get them under his shirt. With these people, I just didn't know, and that will lead to issues.

The Falcon gestured toward me.

"Last time I saw you, you were crying behind some trash cans-"

I had to shut that down quick before they got any ideas.

"That's not who I am anymore..."

They stared for a moment, caught off guard by my sudden rebuttal. But Falcon seemed to recover quicker than the Super Soldier.

"Well, clearly not. Heard you've been making a name for yourself out there."

So the Avengers had heard of me? Was I supposed to be honored or something? It wasn't as if they cared about the little guy that much, or else they wouldn't be coming out of their facility out there. They'd rather waddle out when something big comes around and let the streets burn around them.

"Never thought of a name," I said, keeping my face neutral. But both of them chuckled.

"Regardless, I've been following the news. Something about a young man going out and helping those in need has been getting a lot of attention lately. Especially when we found he's got some kind of pyromaniac ability."

 _Pyromaniac? I'm many things but I was never a maniac...well, not until some days ago perhaps..._

"And what does that have to do with me?" I asked, hoping to throw them off by playing ignorant.

The Captain just sighed.

"You don't have to pretend right now Mr. Fenton. Or is it Michael? Do you mind if I call you Michael?"

"I don't care what you call me right now," I replied in an almost monotone style.

He shook his head.

"I'll just call you what your mother named you. You can call me Steve if you wish. Steve Rogers."

"I know who you are," I replied. He gave a half grin. Falcon made a motion that caught my eye.

"Do you know my real name by any chance?" he asked. I shook my head, as I honestly didn't know much about Falcon. Everyone knew about the Captain America who helped defeat HYDRA back in the day, and then helped to dismantle SHIELD when it was revealed to be infected with HYDRA. But the Falcon, I knew that he flew with mechanical wings. That was about it.

"Well, just call me Sam Wilson, or just Sam," he said with a smile, as if he were trying to soften me up. Wasn't going to happen.

"Since you know who we are, do you know why we are here?" Steve Rogers asked. I shook my head, though I felt as though I did indeed know where this was going. They both sat in the seats opposite me. Falcon cleared his throat.

"As I said, we were following the story. We know it's you. So please Michael, don't try to deny it. We know you are the one that's been raising hell with the criminal elements in this city. And we know from the reports we've been getting that you have a pretty interesting way with heat."

I cocked my head, pretending to be interested. I might be able to use this to my advantage. Find you just how much these people knew about me and what I was capable of. Because to be honest, I was curious. And I myself didn't actually know the full extent of what I could do. What I did in the ballroom to the big gathering of rich mob bosses and their lackeys might actually be just the tip of the iceberg, for all I knew.

"Just what do these reports say?" I asked. Falcon thought for a moment, maybe choosing his words.

"Well, one claim was that you saved a woman who was being robbed by making the guy's gun too hot to hold."

I remembered that night. Well, they were right. That was one of my first nights going out. What else did they know?

"And there was a report of a young man who burned part of a house to escape the authorities. Luckily, everyone inside was already dead..."

I winced ever so slightly, and then stopped myself, hoping they didn't notice. That was the night that crazed woman had drowned her kids and killed her husband and herself, all because the husband was apparently cheating on her. That was when I saw just how fucked up this world could potentially be.

"That wasn't you, was it?" Rogers asked. I scoffed and shook my head. Then he grinned, catching me off guard.

"Don't take us for fools Michael. We did our homework. We know more than you think we do. There is really no point in trying to hide anything, so just come out and admit it. You've been the one going around beating down low lifers for the last few months. Though what we would like to know is why you do what you do."

I narrowed my eyes. Did they intend to use my family against me? To stick their fingers in an open wound, still gushing blood, and jab their fingers in, deeply and painfully? Would they truly go that far? Well, knowing the Avengers as much as I did, which, granted, was from reports on TV and their exploits that had been revealed, they actually just might. Both of these men seemed to be goody-two-shoes type, and would want me to painfully open up about it, maybe even start crying. Well, they could kiss my ass if they thought they were going to get that. That side of me that cared to cry in front of others died in a puddle of blood on a bedroom floor.

"And what is it exactly that I did, Mr. Rogers?" I asked, renaming in my neutral, cold mode. He sighed and cocked his head slightly. I knew he was pondering something in his head. I could see the screws of his mind working behind those blue eyes. I refused to be lulled by this admittingly gentle treatment, by comparison of what I had been receiving. The Captain gave me a look that I swear almost held...pity.

 _Bastard_...

"Revenge. You killed Santos in a rather bloody way, not caring who or what saw you, for revenge," he said. Then he leaned forward. "And we know why you did it."

I felt myself swallow. I knew that the eruption was coming. I knew there was about to be a trigger word for it. And I knew that once I started, there would be no going back. Oh god...

"He killed your family. And I for one can't find it in myself to blame you-"

" _SHUT UP!"_

My god. Was that _my_ voice? The loud roar that I felt erupt from my throat and scream? Both of them seemed startled by the outburst, and I knew it because I felt myself taken back. But it was as if my words were no longer in my control, and I was just a puppet for something else. Some dark, furious, fiery rage that was now a part of me, and wouldn't be extinguished by kindness or sympathy.

" _JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!"_

I felt myself breathing heavily, rage in my heart and hatred in my soul. Falcon raised his hand and made a motion for me to quiet down, but I sure as hell wasn't going to be having any of that bullshit.

"You don't know a damn thing!" I said loudly, though not in the bellowing loudness I used seconds before. "You don't know what I've been through. You don't know my history. I don't care what files or information you have. You don't know shit about me, so don't even think of trying to presume you do!"

To my shame, I felt a tear slide down. Oh great. Now I think I was anger crying in front of several Avengers, after they seemed to have found my weakness. This was just fan-fucking-tastic. I glared at them, taking several deep breathes. I was trying like hell to use the calming technique Gabriel taught me, and I admit it was helping to ride the storm in me. But I doubt anything will truly calm it now. Only endure it.

It felt like forever before anything else was spoken. Just me and the two Avengers staring each other down. I felt too angry to wipe the tear away, too ashamed to show it at the same time. I was surprised no one had come in to investigate the shouting, but they might have been given instructions that if something went wrong, they would know very quickly. Maybe when the building started to burn down.

Falcon shifted in his seat. "You're right. We don't know anything. I never was one for reports anyway. So if doesn't bother you...or hurt...why don't you tell us about yourself?"

"I have nothing to say. I..." I felt my voice drone off, almost as if I were a thousand miles away. I just couldn't bring myself to speak much about anything. What was it about these two, like Murdock, that made me feel uncomfortable, yet at the same time feel like I could be myself in front of them just a little bit. It was as if they had an aura that said they could be trusted.

"You don't need to speak at all if you wish. Just hear me us out. We know what happened at your home. We know why you did what you did. And I understand if you felt the need to make a dramatic pay back on him. But the public has seen you now. And they see someone who can burn down buildings and make people burn up to ashes. And they watched on live TV as you sliced someone apart slowly, and then threw him off a roof. You know there is no safe place for you now?"

I felt myself chuckle, which may have struck them oddly.

"There hadn't been a safe place for as long as I can remember. You are never safe 'Captain'. Any day, any moment, any second, the people you love and cherish can be torn away from you forever. And then it will be just you, all alone in the world. So yes, I am quite aware of there being 'no safe place' captain. I've known it for a while now."

The Captain seemed to have a moment of pity in his eyes.

"I'm sorry you've had a rough go of it. I didn't have the best life either before this was done to me," he said, gesturing to himself. "I had a loving mother yes, but I was bullied nonstop. Before this I was small, weak, and would get sick all the time. Hell, I was rejected several times before I was accepted into the program that made me what I am."

I nodded slightly, acknowledging his statement. Falcon gestured at me.

"So how'd it happen to you?" he asked. I looked at him for a moment before answering.

"I took my medicine," I said, deliberately being cryptic. He shrugged.

"If you say so."

"I think it's time we stopped beating around the bush Michael. We know what you're capable of, at least in understanding. The full scope of it, we don't know, and I get the feeling you don't either. So I came here to make an offer, both of us."

I braced myself.

"We would like to take you in. Let you be live in the Avengers facility. The public is scared right now. They see a young man who just burned a hotel and killed a man on TV. So out there, it would be dangerous, if you do get out of this mess. We have resources that can help with that, but only if you agree to come with us. We can help you Michael."

There it was. The sales pitch. The only reason I could guess that these Avengers would have bothered to show up in the interrogation room to speak to me. Why else would they be here? I was pretty confident they wouldn't just want to come in and chit chat with random criminals in jail. I knew what they were here for, but I let them make their case. And to be honest with myself, they were right on many points. Despite knowing that the world would never have a truly safe place for me, the Avengers were offering me a place to be at least _safer_.

At the same time, I couldn't just blindly accept such an offer. I was a simple boy just months ago. And now I would be living with the legends that people worshiped, that saved the city and the maybe the world from some madman a couple years ago, and then some metal robot thing not too long ago. Sure I had come quite a way since that boy who as robbing stores for some extra income but this was still a leap that I had to dwell on.

"I think you're going to need some time to think about it, aren't you?" Falcon asked, interrupting my internal debate. He was genuinely intuitive about people. I sighed and nodded. The Captain and he got up.

"When you're ready just give us a call, if you decide to go through with it. Just think about it Michael. You could be so much more..."

The exact same words Gabriel used. I winced at the memory, and the Captain stopped what he was saying, seeing the effect. He reached out and gently grasped my shoulder.

"You alright son?" he asked. I nodded.

"I'll survive. I will think on it, 'Captain'".

He nodded and Falcon flashed me a grin.

"Trust me on this Michael. This is an offer you'd be a fool to pass up. Just let someone know that you'd like to call us about it. We were told that's all you would have to do to get in touch."

"And what about the whole legal shit?" I asked. "How do you intend to get me out of all that?"

The Captain nodded as though he were expecting the question.

"Don't worry about that. We have got that covered. Just think on what you need to think on."

The door opened.

"Take care, regardless."

And with that, the door was closed and I was left alone with my thoughts and feelings. My mind kept playing the conversation in my head over and over, going over the options I currently had. It didn't stop racing until the guards came in, and led me out of the room.

As we left, we passed by a hallway, and I glanced downward to see both the Captain and Falcon there talking with a red haired woman. I had to admit that she was definitely someone who I might have tolerated having a one night stand with, even if she looked about ten years older. The other was younger, looking actually close to my age, if not the same.

She happened to glance down the hall at the same time as me, and our eyes met. I felt something stir in me, a shock of some kind. I furrowed my brow for a moment and looked right back at her as she looked at me. I don't know what I saw in her eyes, or what she saw in mine, but there was a jolt of something there. I don't know what, but it was there. I swear for a moment I saw her smile before I lost sight of the group and was soon back inside my cell.

I sat on the bed for how long, I do not know. My eyes were seeing a thousand miles away. No, more than miles. I was trying to see them. Mom. Chris. Gabriel. I was trying to see where they may be. Whatever other dimension of life there was after you breathed your last here. I sighed when I couldn't find them anywhere in my soul's eyes.

Were they lost to me forever now?

Right now, Gabriel's council was what I would have asked for, but he wasn't here anymore, and never would be. Mother's warm advice would never be rejected, but she too had left this world, and me behind forever. Chris would never again chuckle and give some smart-ass comment.

It was just me now, locked away in a small cell. I alone would have to find the answers to the questions I sought. I could only hope that wherever they may be right now...they hadn't given up on me. Not yet...

-0-

Several days later, I was exercising in the yard, performing my fifth set of pull-ups. I had just hit the final ten reps, and dropped down, stretching my arms a little before dropping for the final set of thirty push-ups. As I raised and lowered my body, I saw movement in the corner of my eye and turned slightly, seeing a group of four men approaching. I internally swore when I saw them.

The big guy in my block, "Joe" as he was called, had tried to get me to do him a "favor" some days ago. I had refused him and he said that he would be paying me back for the refusal, since he was the king of this block and apparently his word was divine. Nevertheless, I didn't give a shit about what he was a king of, and told him to piss off. Apparently, that didn't boil over to well, and now he was coming at me with three of his biggest punks.

At this point, I just didn't care how big they were. My mind was still playing with the Avengers offer, and I was not in the mood to be messed with. I had fought people a whole lot scarier then him and his cronies, and had not only beaten them, I had set them on fire from the inside. Come to think of it, why wasn't I locked away in some big government facility? Did they know that I could do that? The Avengers had figured it out. Didn't the detectives or whatever who examined the scene come to some similar conclusion?

Regardless, maybe they should have locked me up somewhere where they poke and prod you. Because there was about to be blood spilled on the yard tonight if it turned out how it was looking right now. And it wasn't going to be mine. Many people would shut down for months after what happened. I on the other hand only felt more..angry. As in 'I'm going to burn the world down angry'. And when you let someone like me in my current state be around people I made a choice to combat in the real world, bad shit happens.

I finished my set, showing no weakness before Joe. I stood up slowly and faced him, as he and his sidekicks stood maybe seven feet before me. I brushed my hands off on my pants and turned to give him an inquisitive look.

"Can I help you?" I asked innocently. Might as well give him a chance after all. He glared at me.

"You know why I run this block?" he asked. I shrugged.

"Not really. And I never really cared to be honest."

"Well, let me tell you something rat. I run this place because if you do something wrong, you get your ass handed to you, if you're lucky. If not, you end up with a shank inn the ribs. Remember what I told you to do?"

"Not really. Went in through one ear and went right out the other."

"Well, I ain't gonna repeat myself. So say whatever prayers you want, because it's time to pay the man."

Well, shit. And here I was hoping the day could go by without any incident or mishap. Just my luck these days. Oh well, time to 'pay the man'.

One of his buddy's lunged forward to try and pin my arms. I ducked low, beneath his grasp, and my fist shot out to find his solar plexus, my aim true. His mouth flew open and he heaved, crumbling to the ground, desperately trying to breathe. As I rose up from my drop, the other two looked startled that I had just downed one of their own with a single blow. But then they attacked.

I backtracked as I warded off blows, both blocking some and evading others, using the techniques that had been drilled into me so thoroughly months ago. I ducked and weaved through their attacks, and and found them to be rather sloppy, no surprise though. These guys were used to intimidation rather than actual fighting, and they probably were used to only roughing up smaller and less able, not a real fight. Well, that shit just ended right now.

I finally found an opening. Well, more like I got bored with this and decided to end it. I threw an uppercut to one's chin and while he was still reacting to the blow, I kneed him in the groin. In a fight like this, there were no rules so I felt nothing against slamming him right in the jewels.

And so down he went. I was going easy on them to be honest. I really didn't think these guys were all that smart, and were just trying to survive the environment. I myself might have done the same in their shoes, at least if I had been in here before certain events took place. So I allowed them to drop to the ground and left them to their own suffering.

Finally it was just me and Joe. Around us, a crowd had formed, but no one jumped in to help Joe or myself, as would be expected. Jail was that sort of environment where no one did anything that could get them in trouble with someone bigger and meaner than them. Just the way I needed it right now. Joe seemed surprised that his friends had gone down so quickly, but he still rushed me, thrusting out a knife before him. I allowed him to come closer and closer, before twirling to the side at the last second and grabbing his arm as he passed by me. I twisted and allowed momentum to swing him to the ground.

He let out a yell of anger and got back up, this time taking his time getting to me. I assumed a fighting stance, and prepared for the attack to follow. I knew that I was not blocking those blows. His stature was just too much bigger, no matter how much stronger I may have become. So I watched his body language as I was taught, and made ready to evade any attack he may throw. And attack he did.

Joe was like a bull. His attacks were powerful and one hit could seriously rattle my cage if it made contact. But while he may have been a juggernaut, he was a very predictable juggernaut. This allowed me to judge where the next hit was coming from, and react accordingly.

I dodged and weaved around him, to the point where if an outsider was looking at me I must have looked like I was dancing. I knew the guards would be coming soon, so I needed to get this over with quickly. So I made ready to end it.

He thrust his blade out once more, and I nimbly leaned back to evade. As his blade went across my front, I grabbed and twisted his wrist, causing him to yelp and drop his blade. Now it was my turn to go on the attack.

I brought my elbow down hard on his mid-arm, and he screamed as it gave way. I didn't acknowledge the sick crunch and punched him hard in the throat. He gurgled and fell back, and I walked over to examine my handiwork. I nodded to myself, seeing him wallow in agony on the ground.

"Just a lesson for you if you try that shit again. Kapeesh?" I asked. He didn't acknowledge, too full of pain. So be it. At least this lesson will satisfy for now.

As I raised myself back up, I felt something hit me from behind, and a surge of pain shot through me. I grunted loudly and whirled around, shocked that the motion caused another shock t go through me, and saw one of the guys who I had taken it was on standing behind me, a shiv in his hand, and I saw blood on the blade. My blood.

" _Bitch_ ," I snarled, ignoring the pain as I lashed a hand out, knocking the shiv away and advanced inside his arm length, delivering knees and hooks which drove him back until he fell onto his back. I leaned over him and punched him over and over, until I felt the sting and shock of the Taser rip through me, and I fell to the ground, finally feeling the pain of the side stab.

As the guards dragged me toward the infirmity, I dwelled on the fact that I took it easy on those guys, and one of them stabbed me in the back. I made a choice to be merciful, knowing that they were probably bullied and intimidated into going along with Joe, or just went along out of sheer survival. That was the nature of incarceration. You got on the good side of the big fish. But for one of them to stab me in the back when he clearly should have retreated stung me just as bad as the wound to my right side.

The guards had me laying on the examination table, and warned me not to try anything I didn't have the will at the moment. I had once again been stabbed in the back, this time literally, for showing mercy to someone who maybe shouldn't have shown mercy to. Was it me? Am I too soft? Do I have too much faith in humanity these days, especially after what happened to my family?

Most people would still be wallowing in their grief and pain after what had happened, even after the rush of revenge. But I kept pushing myself, because it was all I had now. And with the increase in my physical regime, my anger at the world, at everything, seemed to grow. I knew that there was nothing I could do that would bring my family back. They were gone. Lost forever, and I would never be seeing them again.

Yet even after killing Santos, ever since I was placed in this jail, I could feel nothing but fury, Not screaming in the night rage, but something bigger, and deeper. I wanted to burn. Ravage. Destroy everything. I felt as though if I allowed myself the chance, I might very well just start killing everyone until someone finally put me down for good. It was as if something in me had awoken and I had so tedious control over it. I showed mercy to those I thought warranted it, like the sidekicks of Joe, but only with effort. And that effort rewarded me with a knife to my side.

Mercy. Maybe that was it. Had it become my weakness? Something that could now be used against me? If that is what was true, then my chances of survival in this place, or even this world, would be greatly affected.

Maybe I should stop. Stop trying to have mercy on others. Mercy was apparently biting me in the ass right now. It had gotten my family killed, because I wanted to teach Santos a lesson and let him have his life, instead of doing what I should have done and killed him. And now it had literally got me stabbed in the back with a shiv, because I took it easy on a thug I decided had been bullied into service.

I swallowed in my thoughts. The doctor took a look and cleaned the wound, giving me some anti-infection stuff and bandaged the wound, before the guards walked me into isolation, standard practice for inmates who were fighting. I sat on the bed, lost in my internal struggle, until the guards brought the Nutraloaf, which I ate in an almost robotic fashion. The taste was something I had gotten used to by now.

I lay on my bed, legs up and crossed, letting my mind do what it wanted, too tired of the world as of now to care. If I wanted to, I thought I could easily break out of here. The guards couldn't stop me if they were piles of ashes. Maybe they would just shoot me before I could focus enough to do so, since I think the fact I was so angry had to do with how quickly I killed the gangsters at their party. But in this place I was just...broken. Sure I still had that same fury, but I felt as though if the guards came through right now and strangled me, I wouldn't stop them.

I closed my eyes and let myself float into the void, and part of me hoped to not awaken...

 _The fight was nothing like I had yet experienced..._

 _Blow after blow was exchanged. I fought like someone possessed. As if some force beyond my control guided my movements. My opponent was a shadow, a void that I could make out no features of, yet moved with incredible grace, which I felt myself somehow countering with my own._

 _This felt familiar..._

 _A blow hit me from the side of my face, and I jerked back, leaning out of the way of an uppercut. I grabbed the next punch coming for my upper chest, and held him tight as I delivered as powerful a kick to his gut as I could. I felt him grunt in shock and twisted his arm over my shoulder, throwing him over and landing him on his back. I sent a fist crashing down toward his face, but he moved his head just out the way at the last possible second._

 _Then the figure suddenly lashed his legs up and wrapped them around my head. Before I registered what had happened, I was thrown down myself by his strength and momentum, and hit the ground hard, forcing a grunt of my own from me. Then it raised itself up and gave me a hard punch to the face, making me see stars. Then it raised itself to its feet, and I gazed up at this strange creature with blood in my mouth._

" _Why are you doing this to yourself?" it asked in a strangely familiar voice. I took several deep breathes, trying to steel myself. The entity scoffed._

" _You are just going to lie there and die? Is that it? Just give up when you have all this power?"_

" _It's not right..." I heard myself gasp out. The entity's black face fixed on me for a second more before giving me a hard kick to the ribs, forcing a yelp._

" _You know what's not right? Living like this. You have the powers of a god, Michael. You could burn down this entire world if you wanted. These people should be afraid of you. They should be kneeling at your feet, kissing the ground you walk on, and yet you let yourself wallow in a cell, too tired to fight your own shadow..._

 _It leaned down slightly._

" _Your potential is limitless. Think about how much death, destruction, and all the other shit people do to each other. Dictators seize power and kill thousands to secure their rule. Did you honestly think going at every night and beating down lowlife thugs would bring about a better world? No, you've got to think much, much bigger. With what you have, you can change this entire world for a better one, one ruled and guided by your hand alone, and those who would seek to stop you can be ashes in the wind. And the people would love you for it. The god they always wanted."_

" _But I'm not a god..."_

" _What humanity calls a god has altered from time to time. Who's to say it will not alter again after they see and experience what you can do. Think about it Michael. Think long and hard."_

 _The figure then leaned down further toward me, and as it did its face came into view, as though stepping into a light. I stared at its face, grinning at me with the devil in its eyes._

 _My eyes...my face..._

 _I smiled._

I awoke with a start, taking huge gulps of air. The sheets were tangled around me, and I threw them off in my surprise awakening. I didn't want anything wrapped around me after that kind of dream.

 _Are you sure it was just a dream?_

 _Shut up..._

I paced around my cell for hours after that. Back and forth, back and forth. I couldn't shake the dream from my head. It played like a looped video, refusing to go away, still being seen despite my eyes being wide open and myself fully awake.

Was my mind playing on the words that my face, my mind or body over what the hell ever said in the dream? This was the second time I had had a dream like that. Why? Was my mind trying to tell me something? Or was it my soul?

Did some part of me actually desire to use the abilities I had to force a change, instead of what I had been doing before? Or was it telling me to do the same thing on a much bigger scale. To my shock, I found that when I thought hard about what it had said, it did have a point. I honestly didn't know how far my abilities went. Could I potentially burn the world if I tried? Would I ever try?

I had promised Gabriel that I would try to be a better man. I had failed that night. Or had I? I did destroy evil that night. But did I just become as lost in the dark as them? Why did this world have to be so goddamn weird about this? Why couldn't things just be black and white?

One thing for sure is that whatever this was, it was scaring me. I hadn't felt fear like that in a long time. And something told me that if I did indeed go down the path that the shadow of myself said, it would be a path of no return.

So I needed to get out of this place, before I decided to give in and let that darkness take control for good. And there may be something I could do to help stop that...

The next morning, I asked to speak to the warden regarding my visit. And soon I was waiting for a ride to somewhere I did not know. But wherever it was, I knew it had to be better than here...

 **Sorry this took a while to get out, but I had been busy these last few days. But I am homeward bound now and now I should have a lot more time now. I know this is shorter than usual, but I wanted to get you guys something to assure you I have not abandoned this story. I am going to be taking this one to the end.**

 **Until next chapter,**

 **RWBRyan.**


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